The Widow
by augiesannie
Summary: What happens when the life you've ended up with is not the one you were born to live? Is it possible to erase the past and start over? "You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing...nearby is the country they call life."
1. Chapter 1

**THE WIDOW**

 **Welcome to my new story! I disappeared into it months ago, shamefully ignoring my beloved fellow fans' stories on this site, as well as our community in Proboards. I don't know how the rest of you balance your writing and the fandom, because when I'm lost in a story like this, I find it hard to think about anything else (even, alas, my RL). I promise, I really do, to make up for it now that this story is solidly underway. With a bit of polishing, the updates for this story should come pretty frequently, and I'll have time to read and review all the wonderful stories that have been written in my absence, and to see everyone over on Proboards.**

 **Writing this story required me to fake a lot of expertise I don't have: about boats, classical music, the German language, poetry, and a bunch of other stuff. I did just enough research on Wikipedia to satisfy myself, and hope that any experts among you will cut me a break. And yes, I know that the town in this story is nothing like the real Trieste, but a fictional town was somehow not as satisfying. So you'll have to cut me a break on that too.**

 **This first chapter is long, because I thought you'd get more excited if I gave you the last bit, but I'll try to keep the updates more reasonable after this.**

 **I don't own the Sound of Music, its characters, or anything about it. After nearly six years in this fandom, though, they still all bring me great happiness.**

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Chapter One: Trieste**

"Maria-" Reverend Mother hesitated.

Although she wore her usual serene expression, the older woman wouldn't look Maria in the eye. Well, whatever consequences awaited Maria, she had to accept they were well deserved.

This wasn't the first time she'd run away from the Abbey, but today's timing couldn't have been worse. Maria didn't understand it herself: she longed to be accepted into the novitiate, and to continue her journey toward becoming one of the sisters at Nonnberg Abbey. Yet today, with only a few days remaining before the next class of novices was to be selected, the blue sky and green mountains had lured her out of the Abbey without a backward glance.

"Maria-"

"Yes, Reverend Mother?"

"Maria, it seems to be God's will that you leave us."

"Leave?" Maria's heart climbed right into her throat.

"Only for a while," Reverend Mother began,

"Oh, _no_ , Mother!" Maria interrupted. "Please don't send me away! This is where I belong. It's my home, my family. It's my _life!_ "

"But are you truly ready for it?"

Maria jumped to her feet. "Yes! I am!"

The reply was firm, but kind. "If you go out into the world for a time, knowing what we expect of you – perhaps you will find out if you can expect it of yourself."

"I know what you expect, Reverend Mother, and I _can_ do it! I _promise_ I can!"

"Maria," the older woman said reproachfully.

"Yes, Mother," Maria blinked back tears and forced herself to return to her chair and sit quietly. If only she could go back and live today over! "If it is God's will."

Reverend Mother had begun to leaf through a pile of letters.

"Now. Let's see. There is a family near Salzburg that needs a gover-"

But then she stopped mid-sentence.

"No."

"I beg your pardon, Reverend Mother?"

"Hold on, Maria. I have a better idea."

There was a long pause while Reverend Mother opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved a letter she waved in Maria's direction.

"I should have thought of this right away."

"Ehrm – thought of what?"

"I have just the thing for you. There is an older woman in need of a companion. Madame Clara Rousseau. A kind lady, and a charming one. She lives by the sea, in Trieste."

By the sea! She might as well be sent to the moon! Maria had never been more than a few kilometers from Salzburg. And what kind of charming _French_ person needed a companion?

"But I don't speak a word of French! How will I be a companion to someone who-"

Reverend Mother laughed. "She's as Austrian as you or I, Maria. She was married to a Frenchman for many years, but her husband died about a year ago. As for the rest of it, the Lord will show you in His own good time. I want you to try it, at least until September. Now. You'll need to find some proper clothing in the robing room. There's a bus to Trieste tomorrow morning."

She held her hand out so Maria could kiss her ring, and their meeting was at an end.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"Fraulein! Fraulein, wasn't Trieste your stop? Come now, I've a schedule to keep!"

The driver gave her shoulder a shake until Maria scrambled to her feet. After one last sad and sleepless night in Nonnberg Abbey, the comforting rhythm of the bus ride had lulled her into napping most of the way from Salzburg.

"What time is it, please?" she asked the blue-uniformed back as she followed him up the aisle, trying not to notice the impatient passengers glaring first at her and then down at their wristwatches.

"Four in the afternoon. Right on schedule. Or we were," he said crisply.

Maria took the hint and clambered off the bus as quickly as possible, lugging her carpet bag behind. Blinking away the sudden glare of the sun, she waved forlornly after the bus as it roared off: her very last connection to Nonnberg Abbey, to Salzburg, to home.

As the bus's shadow slid away from her, Maria found herself standing in the middle of a landscape so foreign it really might have been the moon. To her left, the road curved inland, along a deep, U-shaped harbor. To her right was a stand of odd-looking trees, whose jagged-edged leaves, clustered at the top of a long, curved trunk, offered no relief from the sun.

And straight ahead, bordered by a narrow strip of rocky beach, lay the vast expanse of the sea, glittering in the late afternoon sunlight, stretching away until it met the bleached-blue, cloudless sky. Without the reassuring presence of mountains to guard the landscape, it all felt threatening, limitless.

It also felt _hot._ The heavy leather hat barely shielded her eyes from the broiling sun, and she could feel the sweat gathering underneath it and sliding down her neck and underneath the itchy black dress. It had been the only garment she could find in the robing room, although the sleeves were too tight and the hemline wildly uneven.

"Oh, help," Maria murmured, turning away from her first disturbing glimpse of the sea. She trudged through the cluster of trees and found herself facing a sprawling structure, one nearly as big as any cathedral or palace in Salzburg, but looking anything but somber. It was a big, pink pile of a building, with cheerful white trim and dark-green shutters drawn against the afternoon heat. In front of the building, there was a wide terrace littered with umbrella-topped tables and straw chairs. A handful of patrons laughed and chattered, and the sound of ice clinking in their glasses was nearly as appealing as the tumble of a mountain brook.

"This can't be right," she muttered, stopping to mop at the sweat gathered under the rough dress before digging a scrap of paper out of her carpet bag.

"Can I help you, Fraulein?" a slender blond waiter in a crisp white shirt and black trousers approached. His cool demeanor made Maria feel even more awkward, misplaced and hot.

"I'm looking for this address," she thrust the paper in his direction. His eyes flickered back to her, as if measuring her odd appearance against what was written there.

"There must be some mistake," she agreed with him. "I'm looking for Clara Rousseau. Madame Rousseau."

The waiter's face suddenly broke into a wide smile. "Ah! Madame Clara! You've come to the right place, Fraulein."

"But this place-"

"This is the Strand Hotel," he explained, "But our Madame Clara lives here year-round, on the very top floor. If you'll step this way, and proceed through the café to the lobby, they'll be happy to show you upstairs."

Five minutes later, having ignored the stares of the hotel staff and guests, Maria stood before an imposing double door and rang the bell. If she'd been hot before, by now, she was cooking in the sweat that rolled down her legs after the five-story climb. There had been a lift, but she was too shy to ask for help with it, or her bag.

"I'm Maria-" she began, but the little maid who answered the door replied in a shower of French, shrugged apologetically, and left Maria standing in the foyer. Curiosity quickly got the better of her, and she peered through a half-open door. With the shutters closed against the sun, she could barely make out a salon crowded with comfortable furniture, a piano and Victrola, and shelves lined with books. A dining room lay beyond.

"Having a look around, I see?"

Maria jumped and blurted out an apology, but the old woman standing in the foyer merely waved her words away.

"Good! I want you to feel at home here, Maria. Although I'm not sure _why_ , exactly, you're here in the first place. But still. Oh! My manners! I'm Clara, and you're Maria," she chirped, extending her hand.

Madame Rousseau was tiny - no more than five feet tall, with smooth, porcelain-skinned cheeks, a feathery crown of white hair and velvet brown eyes.

"Madame Rousseau," Maria replied, shaking the proffered hand, and resisting the urge to curtsy.

"Oh, no dear, it's Clara, please. Like I said, I want you to feel at home here, at least as long as you - I _told_ Susannah that I didn't need _any_ sort of companion. I have Annette to help me, and the cafe downstairs to send up my meals, and really, for anything else, you know, I just-"

"Susannah?" Maria asked.

Clara laughed, a silvery bell of a laugh. "I always forget. Susannah is Reverend Mother to you."

Maria frowned. "I don't understand."

"You don't think Mother Abbesses are born that way, do you? We grew up together in the same village, near Innsbruck. The two of us girls, we did everything together, our schoolwork, and our chores, and swimming in the summers, and mountain hikes and picnics. We took music lessons together, sang in the church choir, went to parties. But when we finished school, she got it in her head that she wanted to become one of the sisters. I never did understand that," the old woman shook her head regretfully, as though the news was still fresh, "she was the _best_ dancer, and the boys just loved her, and she loved them back, but, oh well- shall I have Annette bring some tea?"

Maria's head was still spinning at the revelations about Reverend Mother, whom she somehow must have thought was born wearing a starched wimple and sweeping habit, and with no name other than "Mother." Meanwhile, Clara led her into the salon, and got her settled into an armchair and situated with a cup of tea and a biscuit. With the shutters closed, and a big fan turning overhead, the room was cool and dim. Clara had a friendly and engaging, if slightly vague, manner, putting Maria so at ease that her questions just popped out, one after the other.

"And you didn't want to be a nun, Clara?"

"Oh, heavens, no! I went to Vienna, to study opera."

"You were an opera singer?"

"Well, for a little," Clara confessed modestly. "Even a bit of a successful one. They liked me in Milan, certainly."

"You sang in Milan?"

"Yes, and Paris, too!"

"Then you were _famous_?"

This was already proving to be quite an adventure, Maria thought.

"Not really. Well, maybe just a little." Clara laughed, "A little bit famous. But it was in Paris that I met my dear Georges."

"Georges?" Maria's tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar French pronunciation.

"My husband. My late husband," Clara gave a watery little smile and nodded toward a large framed photograph on the mantel.

Maria went over to inspect it. A handsome, bearded man with an ample belly draped a possessive arm over a younger, unmistakable Clara. In his other arm, he held a curly-haired little girl, no more than a toddler.

"Is that your daughter?"

"Lily, yes. My treasure." Clara answered, and it made Maria wistful, to hear the pride and love in the older woman's voice. She had no mother to boast about her, and while a few of the sisters at Nonnberg might miss her, it wasn't the same thing at all. "Lily lives in America now. Chicago. She's got a little girl of her own named after me! Her husband's a dentist, you know. "

Maria wasn't sure how she _would_ have known that last bit of information, but it hardly mattered: "A granddaughter? In America! How thrilling! Have you been able to visit?"

"Oh, no, goodness, no," Clara said vaguely. "This is my home, you see. Georges and I came here to live when Lily was a baby, but she left to get married several years ago, you see, and then he-" she trailed off into an awkward silence and began fussing with the tea tray.

"I'm so sorry," Maria began. Perhaps they should talk of something other than Lily and the late Monsieur Rousseau.

"Clara? I have a confession to make. I've never _been_ a companion. I don't know anything about being a companion. I'll need lots of advice."

"Well – ehrm-" the old woman hesitated. "It's just as I said, Maria dear. I don't needa companion. I _tried_ to tell Susannah that in my last letter. But she got it in her head that - she's worried about me, dear old thing. She thinks I - for heaven's sake, I don't need a governess! I rub along quite well here, really. Not sure what a companion is going to do for me."

"Well, then," Maria said, "we'll just be good friends." Until September, Reverend Mother had said. It would be too humiliating if Clara sent her back to Nonnberg. Surely she could find a way to be of some use to this charming, fluttery old lady with the sad brown eyes.

"Perhaps I could read to you? Or write letters? And I can cook, nothing fancy, mind you, but-"

"Oh, we have all our meals sent up from the cafe. Annette cleans and does the wash."

"Perhaps I could do some sewing for you? I can make my own clothes," Maria said proudly, although she suspected that something like Clara's elegant dress was beyond her dressmaking skills.

"I'm afraid I already own more dresses than I'll ever be able to wear," Clara shook her head. "But speaking of dresses," she gave a frankly despairing look at Maria's awful dress, "I told Annette to throw that hat of yours in the dustbin, and that dress ought to go right after it. You'll want to change before dinner."

"I haven't got another dress," Maria started to explain, wishing she did. She was itchy and hot and miserable. "When we enter the Abbey, our worldly goods are given to the poor."

Clara's face brightened. "I know just the thing! Annette," she called, and when the little maid appeared, she issued a stream of commands in French. "Go on," she waved Maria away, "Annette will show you to your room, and she'll help you find something fresh to wear."

The promise of "something fresh," led Maria readily down a carpeted hallway, following Annette into a big room dominated by a four-poster bed. There was a small armchair, a little desk set between two shuttered windows, and an enormous wardrobe that stretched along an entire wall.

"All this is for me?" Maria asked, turning in a slow circle to take in the lovely room, which nearly glowed in a few stray rays of golden sun that speared through the shutters.

"Oui, mademoiselle," the little maid smiled encouragingly, "pour vous." She threw open the wardrobe doors and gestured toward the avalanche of clothing that tumbled onto the floor. "Et aussi, pour vous. Mademoiselle Lily," Annette began to explain and then shrugged. After a pause, she shrugged and held up six fingers.

"Six o clock for dinner?" Maria guessed, and they beamed at each other.

Lily's wardrobe, full of bright colors and silky fabrics, of evening gowns and swimming costumes and lacy underthings, didn't seem very appropriate for a postulant from Nonnberg Abbey, but Maria managed to find a full skirt and a white blouse with an embroidered collar and long, full sleeves. Even if Lily's shoes pinched a bit, they were surely the nicest clothes she'd ever worn.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOo**

Dinner was brought to the dining room on a trolley, wheeled in by the waiter Maria recognized from the cafe, who greeted her with a smile and introduced himself as Kurt. He chatted with Clara as though he were a member of the family, winked at Annette, and quickly offered to show Maria around the small town that lay across the harbor.

Maria was just about to accept his invitation when Clara intervened: "Absolutely not! That town is no place for a girl like Maria, Kurt. She's on loan to us from Nonnberg Abbey in Salzburg. A girl who's studying to be a nun doesn't want anything to do with such a fast crowd. Not the casino or the cafes. And certainly not the types who hang around the harbor!"

Much to Maria's disappointment, Kurt's easy manner had been replaced by a guarded expression and fumbled excuses about not having been to church very often. He bowed his way out of the room, leaving them to their meal of a cool, creamy soup, simply cooked fish and plum tart, and leaving Maria to wonder about the wicked town on the other side of the harbor.

Clara was sweet and attentive, clucking sympathetically as Maria answered a barrage of questions about herself - no parents, no siblings, no relatives at all, a year of teachers' college, no languages except German, and yes, she'd been a postulant for three years, and no, she hadn't been accepted into the novitiate yet, and yes, it usually was only a matter of a year, but in her case -

The conversation suddenly took a dizzy turn.

"Here, Maria, dear, have some custard with your tart. Tell me, do you play the piano?"

Despite the old woman's distracted manner, Maria realized that the sudden change of topic had been an intentionally kind gesture, to steer them away from her failures as a postulant.

But Maria was still worrying about this matter of being a companion.

"Perhaps we might go on an excursion of some sort, Clara? I mean, the afternoons seem very hot, but tomorrow morning, if you'd like, you could show me-"

"Oh, _no_ ," Clara interrupted. "I mean - you see, I don't get out much. Or at all, actually."

"Never?" Maria frowned.

"No. I just remain - ehrm - _here_ ," Clara gave a little chuckle, but her soft brown eyes pleaded for understanding.

For the town to be off limits was one thing, but the entire outside world? Clara's apartment was turning out to be even more cloistered than Nonnberg! Her head hurt at the thought. "But don't you - what if you need the doctor? Or," Maria paused, her mind scrambling for other examples. "Or your hair done? And what about church?"

"Priests make house calls. And beauticians. Doctors, too, of course. Why, there's nothing I can't call downstairs for," Clara laughed her silvery laugh. "Books from the bookstore, and postage stamps, and - oh, all _sorts_ of things. You'll see. And don't worry, Maria dear. We'll make sure you get some fresh air and exercise. Susannah was very clear about that. We've got to keep those roses in your cheeks"

Later that first night, when Maria retired to her new room, she threw the shutters open and leaned out to catch the cool night breeze. An enormous silver moon glowed low in the sky, casting a glittering carpet of light onto the gentle swell of the sea. Her eyes followed the deep curve of the road along the water's edge, all the way to the town on the other side.

As forbidden fruit always did, the little town looked awfully tempting. From high up in Clara's apartment, Maria could see an enormous white marble building sprawled on the far side of the harbor, its façade lit so brightly that she could make out a surrounding cluster of cafes, with people sitting and strolling about in every direction. On the water in front of them, boats of every size, shape and color bobbed in place along a half-dozen long piers that splayed like fingers from the shore. She strained to hear the imagined sounds of people laughing and lively music, but from this far away, there was only the sound of the sea, lapping at the stony beach.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOo**

The next morning, over breakfast – served by a different waiter named Friedrich, who sported an enormous mustache - Maria and Clara worked out what a companion's duties might entail. They spent a quiet morning together, working on correspondence; Clara had a long and interesting list of friends with whom she corresponded regularly, and each letter came with an entertaining, if sometimes hazy, recounting of how she had met the other person or the adventures they'd had.

"I have a rest every day after lunch, from one to four," Clara told her over luncheon, served by a dark, stocky waiter named Hans. "And according to dear Susannah, I'm to shoo you outside during that time."

"I'll be fine inside, I'm sure." Maria said. Although she longed to be outdoors, the very thought of the hot afternoon sun made her wilt.

"No, don't argue with me, dear heart," Clara clucked, "Susannah told me about your headaches. I thought you might sit on the beach. Just remember not to go to town, whatever you do. It's not safe. Not for a girl like you."

"You really won't go out at all?" Maria inquired gently. "Not even to the cafe downstairs? Because after you rest, if you like-"

"No, dear," Clara flustered. "I just _couldn't,_ you see. It makes me too sad. So many happy years here with Georges, and our bringing up our little Lily together, and now - no, I have everything I need right here."

So at one o'clock, when Clara disappeared behind her bedroom door, Maria traipsed down five flights of stairs, waving to Hans, Kurt and Friedrich, who bowed with near reverence in return. Then she stepped, blinking, into the blazing afternoon sun. Making her way to the strip of rocky beach, she sat obediently on a wooden bench and dragged the back of her hand against her forehead, which already ran with sweat.

God was everywhere, she reminded herself, but in this open terrain, she felt unsafe, surrounded by too many unknowns, too many possibilities. Which in turn, reminded her that she ought to think deeply about her vocation. What had Reverend Mother told her? – to consider if she could expect it of herself? What did _that_ mean? She sent a brief prayer God's way, but while it had always been easy to find Him in the mountains, she did not feel His presence in this strange landscape. Then she thought of singing, but instead of her voice rising to meet the mountains, it was stolen away by the gusting wind and the rushing sea.

She peered across the harbor to the bustling little town, so full of life and possibilities, and sighed deeply. The three hours of Clara's rest time felt more like a month, and Maria was relieved when it was time to return to the apartment and dress for dinner.

The second morning was much like the first, but after lunch, on her way through the lobby, Maria seized the chance to have a chat with the three waiters. Kurt had obviously informed Friedrich and Hans of her vocation – she could practically _see_ the three young men hiding their sparkle behind frequent references to the Holy Father and Our Lady. It took her ten minutes and a few of her best jokes before they relaxed enough to have a real talk, and then she was able to learn from them that Georges Rousseau had died a year ago, several years after their daughter Lily married and left for America. It had been a double loss for the old woman, then.

Once outside, Maria's mind was so busy turning over Clara's sad situation that she barely noticed she had turned away from the rocky beach, in favor of wandering along the road where it followed the harbor. She looked back nervously over her shoulder, but between the shuttered hotel windows and the stand of trees – palm trees, she now knew to call them - she realized she could slip away undiscovered. Surely no harm could be done if she went just a little farther! She made it halfway along the harbor to the town before her conscience overcame her curiosity. Reluctantly, she turned her back on the town and returned to the Hotel Strand, trying to ignore the pull of what lay on the other side of the harbor.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Georg tightened the final rivet with a flourish and stepped back to admire his work. It had been a grueling three days' effort, but the beams were now sturdy and ship-shape. The engine parts would arrive within a few days, and those would be more than enough to occupy him until the replacement sails arrived ready for installation in another three weeks. Interior and exterior were both freshly painted, a cheeky red and white Austrian rebuke to the Nazis. He'd even begun to lay in some supplies.

Restoring the little sailboat - he liked to think of it that way, although it was really a step or two above, with its cabin below, two masts and sizable engine - had been a most satisfactory undertaking. Within six weeks – eight at the most - he'd be ready to launch the next phase of his battle plan.

Although the sun was nearly straight overhead, and he'd eaten nothing more than some fruit and a stale roll since waking before sunrise, he felt a burst of energy. Perhaps he'd start on staining the deck. He seized a broom and began to sweep it clean.

It was a different sort of clean sweep, his plan for a new life, now that the old life - as naval officer, husband and father - was in ashes. Four years after Agathe's death, he'd come to accept that his heart would never heal. But Georg was also a realist, so last year, he hadn't been shocked when certain _other_ parts of him came to life and demanded attention, reminding him of all kinds of things he'd rather have forgotten.

With all that, under pressure from his family and most of Austria's upper crust, and his children badly in need of a mother, he'd toyed with the idea of marrying again. In fact, he wasted a year of Elsa Schrader's time before he sent her back to Vienna for good, having concluded that marriage would only add to, rather than cure, his woes.

That was when the idea had taken shape: why not go back to the life he'd lived _before_? Before Agathe and the seven children she'd given him. He couldn't bring back the Austrian Navy, of course. But he could return to wandering the sea: his first love, or at least the first one that wouldn't up and die on him. It would be easy enough to find some casual female companionship along the way. And without his comings and goings, the children would surely overcome the anger and resentment his presence evoked in them, as though he were no more than a cruel reminder of what they'd lost.

And so Georg had come to Trieste, gotten the old boat out of dry dock, found a berth in the harbor, and gone to work restoring her. He'd left behind lakes, mountains and the luxurious comfort of the villa in favor of backbreaking work and rough quarters, but for the first time in years, he felt in control of his circumstances.

Daytimes, he worked on the boat. When night fell, he avoided the casino that dominated the waterfront – he had no interest in being recognized by elite society or being snared by the marriage market – in favor of prowling the town's bars and cafes, staying clear of the whores, but flirting extravagantly with the barmaids and waitresses who were trying to earn an honest living. He'd been good with women - all right, _very_ good with women, dozens of them, until he'd met his Agathe. It was remarkable, how easily it came back to him. And if he hadn't yet lured one of them into bed, well, it was only a matter of time.

He dreaded it. He craved it. And he had perhaps six or eight weeks to find it, before he left Austria for good.

Last night, he'd thought he'd been close. The barmaid – Sophia, wasn't it? - hadn't been his type; she was short, dark and curvy, when he'd always been partial to willowy blonds. But when she'd served his beer, she'd pressed her generous breasts against his arm, and he'd closed his eyes and told himself he could imagine her underneath him. After an hour in her company, though, her incessant nervous chatter and, worse, her habit of giggling in response to everything he said, made her company intolerable. He'd pressed a large tip into her hand and gone back to the boat to sleep alone.

Georg was nearly finished sweeping the deck when he heard a familiar whistle behind him.

"Max? What the hell are you doing in Trieste?"

"I've come on unfinished business."

"I don't recall _having_ any business with you. Nor do I recall giving you permission to board."

"You're not in the Navy any more, Georg. When I arrived last night, I came down here straight away. I waited for you for hours. Where did you get to, anyway?"

"None of your business." Georg continued sweeping, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the deck. "What do you want, Max? If you've come here to rake me over the coals about Elsa, you're wasting your time."

"No, no, not Elsa. I mean," Max said, "it _was_ a disappointment. I wanted the two of you to get married and keep all that lovely money in the family."

"We've been through all of that, Max. I was dishonest to both of us, and utterly unfair to her," Georg said firmly. "And now she's back in Vienna, where she belongs. Now. If it's not Elsa, then what could I possibly have done to bring you all the way to Trieste?"

"It's not what you've done, Georg, it's what you're apparently _planning_ to do. A few weeks ago, I sent out letters to a hundred or so of my dearest friends, inquiring about sponsorship for next year's festival. Imagine my surprise when I received a response from your solicitor that you'd be out of the country for next year's festival! He went on to explain that you were stopping in Trieste for only a few more weeks, and then you'd be leaving Austria for an extended period of several years. _Years!_ A most surprising turn of events for a man with seven-"

"I'm full of surprises," Georg said curtly. He swept the pile of dust and debris over the railing into the harbor below. Max followed him toward the stern as he resumed his sweeping.

"Are you out of your mind, Georg?"

"I'm a sailor, Max," Georg said calmly, although he found himself swinging the broom in a manner that was anything but calm. "Sailors sail. I'll be off in a matter of weeks, as soon she's seaworthy. There's nothing especially challenging about the journey down the coast, and then over to Greece."

"And then what? Your solicitor said something about Africa."

"Depending on the situation, yes. Africa. Or perhaps I'll put the boat in storage and go overland, toward the Middle East."

"Georg! It's one thing to spend a month in Vienna, but quite another thing for –"

Sighing, Georg stood his broom on end and looked Max straight in the eye. "It's just as he said. I'm leaving more or less permanently. I have in mind to settle myself somewhere different. As different from Austria as possible."

"You _are_ out of your mind! Have you forgotten that you have seven children, Georg? That you are their only parent? How can you abandon them?"

"I am hardly abandoning them, Max. I'm leaving them in the hands of a capable staff. And I do have Elsa to thank for suggesting boarding school for the older ones. Once they are off for the fall term, it will not be so difficult to find a governess for the younger ones. Now, would you excuse me, please?" Georg slid by Max and went below to find the deck stain and brush. When he climbed back out of the hold, Max was still there, arms folded.

"Boarding school? Even for Brigitta?

"Max," Georg shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about. Do you even know how old Brigitta is?" He dipped the long-handled brush in the bucket of stain. "And since when are you the defender of home and family? You've hardly lived a conventional life yourself. Who are you to tell me about my children?"

"I _am_ a child. That's why I understand what it will do to them to lose you."

Georg gave a humorless chuckle. "They can't do any worse without me, than they're doing with me." He began to spread stain across the deck, with strokes that were perhaps more ferocious than necessary. "I left all the required instructions with my solicitor and the housekeeper. They'll want for nothing."

"They'll want for you," Max said. "Now take Liesl-"

"I do not wish to discuss my children in this manner," Georg growled, edging the brush in Max's direction.

"I know you don't," Max said, with an unfamiliar stubbornness, "but you've got to!"

"Max, it's time for you to leave." The brush moved toward Max in wide, sweeping arcs.

"But I am not finished yet!" Max protested, taking two steps backward. "Sometimes I think I don't even know you, Georg. What would Agathe say?"

"Max, don't you _ever_ say that again!"

Georg nearly shoved the brush at Max, who leapt nimbly onto the gangplank.

"But they're children!"

"Yes, and I am their father. Goodbye, Max."

"You can't get rid of me that easily. I'll be back, Georg."

"In that case," Georg said, his voice deadly calm, "I'll make sure to be gone before you return."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Leave me a little review, won't you? (I know, this was mostly setup. The action really picks up in the next chapter.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: The Widow**

Lily's wardrobe was like a magical treasure chest: whatever you needed, even if you didn't know you needed it, there it was! After luncheon on her third day in Trieste, when Clara went to nap, Maria unearthed a wide-brimmed straw hat from the back of the wardrobe and trudged down five flights of stairs. She dreaded the prospect of a long afternoon with nothing but that unnerving expanse of sky and sea to keep her company.

Released from the confinement of Clara's apartment, though, it just felt good to be _moving_ , despite the pinch of Lily's shoes and the sweat gathering beneath the collar of her white blouse. So without letting herself think about it too much, Maria _kept_ moving, away from the hotel and the rocky beach. Once safely out of sight of the hotel, she slowed her pace and wandered aimlessly alongside the harbor toward town, promising herself she'd stop at the halfway point as she had the day before.

Behind her, the pink-and-green Hotel Strand shimmered like a dream in the distance. The big hat shielded her face from the worst of the merciless sun, and a stiff breeze bellied her full skirt as though it were a sail. The cozy harbor was a much more pleasant and interesting sight than the endless seascape that lay beyond, and before she knew what she was doing, she'd followed the edge of the harbor past the halfway point, and all the way to the town on the other side.

By then, Maria had grown hot and sticky underneath Lily's long-sleeved blouse. Just ahead, she spotted a small wooden bench overlooking the harbor, and collapsed there, sighing with pleasurable relief as she kicked off the shoes. Stretched out before her, as though for her entertainment, boats of every type bobbed energetically in the frisky breeze - colorful little sailboats, red, blue and green; stately white boats that she thought might be yachts, sleek boats that seemed meant for racing. The sailboats were prettiest, she thought.

Suddenly, a gust of wind lifted the big straw hat straight off her head! The hat soared and spun out over the water, graceful as a bird, until it snagged on a towering mast, and came to rest on a bit of rigging.

"Oh, you…" Maria muttered. Wedging her feet back into her shoes, she stumbled down onto the pier and gazed up at her hat. It had gotten caught high above the deck of a medium-sized sailboat that was painted a cheerful red-and-white.

Maria had never been on a boat bigger than her uncle's old rowboat, but she was unwilling to part with Lily's hat, so she bravely tiptoed over the rickety wooden gangplank that led from the pier onto the deck. There didn't seem to be anyone on board, but then she noticed – barely in time to avoid tumbling through it - an opening in the deck; from the dark pit below wafted up a rich, hot odor of grease, beer, fish, and unwashed human.

"Hello?" she called tentatively at first, and then when there was no response, louder: "Hello? Is anyone down there?"

From somewhere beneath her feet, Maria heard a series of thumps, followed by a cascade of what sounded like very bad curses about someone's mother.

"Well, that's not very nice," she said to the unseen curmudgeon. "Would you like it if I talked that way about _your_ mother?"

"I haven't got a mother," a man's voice countered.

"What about your wife?"

There was a long pause.

"Haven't got one of those either. Don't you know there are certain places in a harbor town that are not to be disturbed? It's bad luck for a woman to come on board. Unless-"

"Unless what?"

The thumps grew louder and closer. "I _might_ make an exception for a certain kind of woman. The fun kind. The stay out all night kind. What kind are you?"

From where the floor was open at Maria's feet, there slowly emerged a man unlike anyone Maria had ever seen. Dark hair fell in wild disarray over his forehead, and startling blue eyes peered out from an unshaven face that was split by a wicked grin. She looked down and away from his face to find a wrinkled shirt, completely unbuttoned to reveal a broad, muscled chest matted with hair. He looked nothing like the men in the statues and paintings that adorned the public spaces and cathedrals of Salzburg. As the man finished his ascent, she saw grease-stained hands, grimy trousers, and bare feet. Somehow, there was something _indecent_ about those feet. Her eyes slid upward – far upward, for he was very tall.

When Georg had first heard a woman's voice calling from above, he had thought he was hearing things. He'd been in a dark mood, yesterday morning's optimism having vanished in the wake of Max's visit later that afternoon. It _had_ been somewhat unnerving, hearing Max - _Max,_ of all people! – spell out, in plain language, what it was Georg von Trapp intended to do. Last night, rather than prowl through the town, Georg had taken his bad mood to bed early, only to toss and turn his way through a night of strange, heated dreams.

When his dark thoughts were interrupted yet again by the unmistakable sound of a woman's musical voice up above, his spirits lifted somewhat, and he welcomed the distraction of a bit of flirtatious banter as he climbed through the hatch. Surely, his mind would clear as soon as he saw to his body's increasingly urgent needs.

He could barely make her out at first, for she was backlit by the glaring midday sun, but he had the impression of the kind of mythical sprite who was said to haunt the ships of unlucky sailors. Tall, slender, with bright hair, and that voice like a bell. He liked a girl who wasn't afraid of him.

"What kind of woman are you?" he asked again, but then his eyes adjusted to the light, and he saw that he'd been mistaken. An innocent blue gaze, gone wide with shock, pink cheeks, a sprinkle of freckles, a choppy haircut. Demure white blouse and full black skirt. Not his sort at all.

"I'm sorry about the bad luck," she said hastily.

He shrugged. "I don't normally let women aboard, but being the governess type, you hardly count."

Maria didn't know whether to feel insulted or relieved. Imagine what he'd say if he knew the she was preparing to be a nun! "I'm not a _governess._ I'm – I'm-"

"You still haven't told me what you're doing on my boat."

"It's my hat, you see," she said, pointing overhead, where Lily's hat flapped gaily in the wind.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." He pressed his lips together in a stern, narrow line, but then before she could offer any further apology, he was shimmying up the mast, nimble as a monkey, and in less than a minute, he was back on the deck, extending the hat toward her with a flourish.

"There you are, Fraulein. But it's probably Frau, isn't it?"

"No, it's Fraulein," Maria said. "Fraulein Rainier. Maria Rainier." Remembering Clara's warnings about the dangers lurking in town, a little voice within warned Maria not to give her name to such a disreputable stranger. But since this single trip to town was an exception to Clara's rules, surely she'd never see this man again.

"Thank you, Captain."

"It's not Captain," he said sharply.

"All right, then, thank you, Herr – ehrm - Herr what?"

"Well," he said slowly, examining his bare feet with great interest. When he looked up at her, his blue eyes began to sparkle, as though they were sharing a hilarious joke. " _Well,_ " he repeated, "it's Herr _Detweiler._ Max Detweiler."

"All right then. It's been a pleasure, Captain Herr Detweiler. Thank you for my hat," she said in a rush, and without another word, Maria scurried back across the gangplank, down the pier and onto the road back towards the Hotel Strand, trying to erase from her memory the flash of his grin against his tanned face.

The grin of a tiger.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Maria steered clear of the town for the next few days, sticking obediently to the circuit of Clara's apartment and the rocky beach, until she thought the sun-soaked tedium of it would drive her mad, along with the heat, which was nearly unbearable. The morning that Annette took Lily's blouse and skirt to be laundered, Maria rooted through the wardrobe until she came upon it: the prettiest dress she'd ever seen.

Just looking at that dress, a dappled print of pale blues and greens, made her feel ten degrees cooler and the tiniest bit mischievous. It was sleeveless, with a deeply scooped neckline, and a skirt made up of several ruffled layers of gauzy fabric.

It wasn't really entirely suitable for a postulant, she thought, but then again, it hardly mattered what she wore, when everyone at the Hotel Strand seemed determined to treat her like some kind of saint. It was a quite a change from Nonnberg, where even on her best days, she was considered no better than an adequate postulant. By rights, Maria should be proud of her status, and she should be savoring the admiration of everyone at the Hotel Strand, but it only made her feel like somehow, she wasn't _herself_ anymore.

Lily's dress was like a dare: what it would be like, just for the space of an afternoon, to dress like someone other than Maria-the-postulant? When they sat down for luncheon, Clara raised an eyebrow at her updated appearance, and Maria hastened to reassure her.

"It gets awfully hot on the beach, Clara, and this dress is so lovely and cool. Lily had the most exquisite taste in clothes, didn't she?"

When she left the apartment after luncheon, straw hat pinned firmly to her head, the brisk breeze flirted with the ruffles and layers of Lily's dress, a cooling, delicious sensation that made Maria want to skip and gambol the way she'd done in the meadows above Salzburg. And so, despite her best intentions, she ambled away from the hotel again, and along the harbor road toward the town, letting the sun warm her shoulders and drive sober thoughts of her vocation from her head. She couldn't help stealing a peek in the direction of the red-and-white boat where she'd met that man – Detweiler, wasn't it? – but the boat appeared empty.

After a few minutes, just as Maria began to feel guilty about breaking Clara's rules, she spied a beautiful little stone church at the far end of a square, and slipped inside to have a chat with her God. The dark, quiet interior and the time spent on her knees soothed her spirits immeasurably.

When she emerged, blinking against the sun's glaring assault, she ran straight into a wall, it seemed, a wall of human flesh, bone and muscle. A man, standing on the steps of the church.

"Why, it's the little governess!" he exclaimed.

There was no forgetting those eyes.

"Captain Detweiler?" Maria said disbelievingly. He was barely recognizable: clean shaven, with his hair cut and neatly parted, his shirt buttoned at least partway, thank heavens, and rumpled but clean white trousers.

After a moment, she collected herself enough to ask, "Why do you stare at me that way?"

She felt her cheeks turn pink as his gaze lingered for a long moment on her shoulders.

"It's _Herr_ Detweiler," he said. A smile spread slowly across his face. "And it's just that you don't look very much like a governess."

"Well, you - ehrm – you don't look at all like a sea captain," she said weakly. "What are you doing here?" He hadn't seemed the type to lurk around churches.

He nodded toward a sign affixed to the church door. "For the music. The newspaper said the concert begins at two, but it isn't until four. I'm sorry – _quite_ sorry, actually – to have forgotten your name. Which is?" He extended his hand.

"Fraulein Rainier. Maria Rainier." Maria returned his handshake. "You like Bach?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I thought you were - I mean, I don't even know you, but Bach is so _orderly_ , and you seem a bit – ehrm – disorganized." She'd been about to say disreputable. Or even dangerous. There was definitely something unsettling about him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Appearances can be deceiving. Take you. The first time I saw you, I took you for a Bach aficionado, too. So prim and proper. But seeing you today - I'll bet you like Debussy, don't you? Or Tchaikovsky, perhaps."

Maria felt a little spark of pleasure at being understood, especially by a stranger. What a relief it was, to be free of the burden of everyone's expectations of her!

"Yes! Exactly! How did you know?"

He leaned down close to her until his shoulder brushed hers, and his voice dropped to a deep whisper.

"You've got to put those feelings _somewhere,_ don't you, love?"

When he straightened up, his sly smile and the gleam in his blue eyes made her cheeks burn.

"Don't be embarrassed, Maria Rainier. _You_ know what I mean, and _I_ know you know it. I'm a very good judge of character," he purred. "You seem sort of wild. Uncontrollable. Maybe even a little dangerous. I'll bet your favorite color is red, isn't it?"

Dangerous? No one had ever –

"Yes! I-I mean no! It's green." Perhaps Clara had been right about the town after all. She really ought to get this conversation back on safer ground.

"It's green," she repeated, thinking wistfully of home. "I'm a mountain girl, originally. Everything here is so - _white_. And hot."

"You ought to go out on the water, where it's cooler," he observed. "Perhaps I'll take you out on my boat after all. Meanwhile, can I buy you a drink, at least? Something long and cool?"

The weight of his gaze on her bare neck and shoulders was impossibly distracting. When Reverend Mother had sent Maria out into the world, with no wimple to hide behind, she hadn't said anything about men, but then again, she probably hadn't thought it necessary. Even without having taken their vows, postulants weren't supposed to notice, or be noticed by, men.

Maria felt – not unsafe, exactly, but _exposed_. What on earth had she been thinking, swanning about in another girl's clothes, abandoning the protection of her identity as a postulant at Nonnberg Abbey? All she needed to do was to tell him the truth, and she'd be able to retreat into comfortable invisibility.

But another part of her, the part that had been forced to leave Nonnberg, that had been so patient and cheerful with everyone at the Hotel Strand, rebelled at the thought. She'd been sent away from the Abbey to see what she could expect from herself, whatever that meant. How could she do that without a fresh look at who she really was? If this man made her uneasy, he was also a refreshing change from her insufferably respectful new friends at the hotel. Maria knew where the lines were, after all, and it wasn't like she wanted to cross them, she just needed a way for _him_ to see those lines, too.

Her mind cast about for a solution-

"I think you ought to know that I'm married," she burst out, hoping the lie was sturdy enough to protect her from those eyes.

"No, you're not," he said easily.

"Why not?" she flustered.

"Perhaps you haven't met the right man."

"That's not what I - I mean, how do you know?"

"Where's your ring?"

Maria looked down and realized that, after shaking her hand, he had never let go of it. No wonder she felt so wobbly.

"And you've introduced yourself as Fraulein at least twice," he went on.

She could hardly tell him the truth now, could she? Maria's mind raced, but not fast enough to keep up with her mouth; before she knew it, she blurted, "Well – ehrm – what I mean to say, is that I _was_ married, but I'm not anymore. I'm a widow."

Detweiler gave her a momentary sharp look, and dropped her hand abruptly. Although he quickly regained his composure, the warm silk had left his voice completely when he said, "I see. I'm terribly sorry. But still. A drink can't hurt," and then under his breath added, "I could use one myself."

"I'd like that," she said gratefully. The next thing she knew, he was leading her down the church steps and into the nearest café, where he got them settled under a shaded arbor. Beneath her newly-acquired veneer of widowhood, she couldn't help but notice the steel of his fingers on her elbow.

A widow! Of all the people to be cornered by! Yet Georg could hardly have abandoned her on the church steps, poor girl. The harbor town was fully of shady types. And anyway, if he had to wait for the concert, he might as well let himself be distracted by the company of a bright-haired young woman with wide blue eyes, freckled shoulders, tempting curves and a musical voice. Even if she was unavailable.

He'd have done just about anything to wash away last night's horrendous experience with Mieke, a barmaid who'd been appealing enough in the dimly lit tavern, but who turned out, when viewed under the streetlamps, to have dirty fingernails and bits of food caught in her teeth. He'd sent her away with an apology and a big tip, and had gotten himself up at dawn for a bath, a shave and a haircut, and a fresh change of clothing. The company of a clean young woman without the possibility of an assignation was, for the moment, quite soothing.

"I _am_ sorry," he began. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have-"

"Oh, that's all right," she said, with a careless gesture. "It was seven years ago."

Seven years? She must be older than she looked.

A bowing waiter approached them.

"Whisky for me, and for the lady-," he looked at her questioningly.

"I'll have a lemonade, please."

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Is Bach your favorite, then?" Maria asked politely.

He shook his head. "Mozart."

She wrinkled her nose. "Mozart is too perfect for me. So elegant. Perfectly balanced, not a hair out of place."

"Ah, but that's the paradox that makes Mozart's work so great. Because there's also the violence, the suffering, the terror. There's a power behind it that's nearly sensual."

Maria tried her best to look sophisticated, hoping he wouldn't notice her cheeks turning pink yet again at his bold language.

"W-what about Beethoven?" she stammered.

He nodded approvingly. "We have him in common, it appears." He leaned back in his chair, as though he was making himself comfortable, and then Maria relaxed too, and they settled into a good long chat about music, until the waiter interrupted them to ask if they needed a refill.

"Two more," Herr Detweiler ordered, before she could speak for herself, and the he turned to her.

"Green." Was that a smile or a smirk? "A mountain girl, you said? What are you doing here?"

"I'm only visiting for the summer." If she had abandoned the truth, Maria thought it best to try and remain in its vicinity. "Then I'll go home again, to Salzburg."

Once again, the smile slipped from his face, leaving a bitter look in its place, but it was only for a moment, really, before he asked, with polite interest, "Salzburg? You don't say!"

"You've been there?" she said eagerly.

"It's all right if you like mountains," he shrugged elaborately. "Where exactly in Salzburg?"

"Oh, I do miss the mountains," Maria said longingly, sidestepping any details that would lead in unwelcome directions. Quickly, she turned the question around. "Where are _you_ from, Herr Detweiler?"

"All over. Nowhere, really. I'm Italian," he added. It was one-quarter of a truth, thanks to his grandmother. The farther he kept from his public identity, the better.

"Really? You speak German like a Salzburger!" she laughed. "Detweiler's not an Italian name, is it?"

"I'm Italian on my mother's side," Georg muttered, and then he erupted into a stream of perfect Italian, sending silent thanks to his grandmother, and hoping the young woman sitting across from him would not understand his strange remarks: "I like the big boats best. I don't want a bath. Where is Hede? May I have some plum cake? My stomach hurts," he told her, for these were the only phrases he could summon from his memories of childhood summers spent in Italy.

"Why are _you_ in Trieste?" she asked.

"Ah! Well." His face lit up with a surprisingly boyish smile. "I'm preparing for a long voyage, down the Adriatic and then – who knows where? Wherever the wind and the sea take me. I've owned this boat for years, but I neglected her, and it's quite a lot of work, restoring her to seaworthiness. I considered trading her in for something bigger, but then I'd need a crew, and I wanted to make this voyage solo," he said challengingly, as though he were arguing with someone she couldn't see.

"I love the way you talk about her like she's a person," Maria laughed. "Does she have a name?"

"The _Edelweiss,_ " he said, and this time there was no missing the shadow that crossed his face.

"Really! That's one of my favorite folk songs, you know, the one about the flower, I mean," she said excitedly. "Do you know it?"

But then the waiter arrived with their drinks, and Detweiler rather abruptly changed the subject.

"Tell me, Fraulein Maria Rainier. Do you like opera?"

Maria practically had to sit on her hands to keep herself from telling him about Clara, so she just said, "Mountain girls don't get to the opera very often. Have you been?"

Georg found himself telling the little widow about La Scala, and Palais Garnier, and the Met. She was surprisingly easy to talk to, with a wide-open demeanor that set him at ease - nothing flirtatious, no manipulation, her attention entirely focused on him without seeming at all demanding.

Then it hit him: of course, she wasn't in the market, poor heartbroken thing. Not for a husband, not for someone to warm her bed. All she wanted from him was company.

"But Max – may I call you Max? On second thought, I think I'll call you Captain, anyway. It suits you, somehow. You've traveled so widely! I haven't been anywhere besides Salzburg, I mean except here. Tell me, what's the farthest you've been from home?"

He didn't often speak of the Polar expedition, but she seemed genuinely interested, asking intelligent questions and listening intently to his answers. From there, it was obvious that she'd want to hear about the exotic islands of the South Pacific. He lost track of how long he nattered on before his good manners caught up with him.

"How's the lemonade?" he gestured.

"It's quite good! Would you like a taste?"

"No," he shuddered. "I don't drink anything that - ehrm, _pink_. I'll stick to whisky. And there's just enough time for another before the concert." For a wild moment, Georg thought about asking her to join him, but that would ruin his plans for afterward, when he had plans to meet a waitress named Klara.

"Oh, no!" Maria startled to her feet. "What time is it?"

"Twenty minutes before four. Why?"

"I've got to go! I'm supposed to be back by- I'm sorry."

"What's your hurry?" he said easily, and she felt a prickle of irritation at this - this sailor, or pirate, or sea captain, or man about town, she wasn't sure what he was, but he wasn't someone who knew about responsibility or schedules. Not that she was proving very responsible, either. She needed to be back at the Hotel Strand by four, before anyone caught sight of her returning from town.

She was half way out the door when she looked over her shoulder long enough to see him throw some money at the startled waiter and catch up to her.

"I'm sorry," Maria apologized breathlessly as she scurried along the harbor. The pink-and-green hotel loomed far in the distance _, too_ far. "I enjoyed this, very much, I really did. But I've got to get home. They're – she's - someone's waiting for me."

"Where do you live? I can call a taxi."

"Oh," Maria waved her hand about vaguely. "We're just down there. No need for that."

"I thought you said you lived alone?"

Why did this man insist on asking her questions about herself when she _wasn't_ herself? Ignoring the pinch of Lily's shoes, Maria increased her pace to a gallop, but he easily kept up with her.

"I said I was a widow, but I don't live alone. I have – ehrm – I have a little girl. Lily."

The lie slipped out before she could stop it. Lies were like that. She'd made up a whole new life for herself today, and once you'd invented a dead husband, it was all too easy to add to the family.

"Isn't she with her governess?"

The suggestion was so outrageous that, late or not late, Maria stopped dead in her tracks.

"Why would I leave my little girl with a _governess_? Governesses are for – well, they're definitely not for people like me. It's bad enough she hasn't got her father anymore. I'm all she has."

He winced inwardly, thinking of his children.

"Do you mean to tell me that you left her alone?"

"No, no. Of course not!" Clara's face appeared in her mind's eye. "She's with my – ehrm – my aunt. That's who we're visiting, my Aunt Clara. I take a walk every day while Lily naps, but the child is simply inconsolable, you see, if I'm not there when she wakes up."

She looked at him sidelong for a moment, rolling her eyes in disbelief. "A _governess_? Truly?" before resuming her frantic dash toward the Hotel Strand.

Maria wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when she looked back to see that he'd stopped his pursuit, and that his face wore a moody frown, as though she'd offended him somehow. But she couldn't be bothered about that, not now. She had just enough time to make it to the hotel.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **I don't own anything about TSOM, though I wish I did.**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3: The Stone and the Star**

"Thank you, Kurt," Clara said, as the waiter loaded the remains of luncheon onto his trolley. Turning to Maria, she smiled.

"You look very nice today, Maria, darling. Very nautical. That dress suits you better than it did Lily, I think!"

Today's dress was broadly striped in blue-and-white, with a full skirt that made Maria feel like she might be able to fly. The sensation made the very idea of another afternoon baking on the beach simply unbearable. It had been several days since her last walk along the harbor, when she'd had so much fun pretending to be someone she wasn't, and getting away with it.

So when Clara went for her nap, Maria decided to make one last excursion to town, telling herself that she'd use the twenty-minute trip to think seriously about her future at Nonnberg Abbey, and that she'd visit the little church as well. But walking along the harbor, she was distracted, her eyes searching, despite herself, for the red-and-white sailboat. She'd run off in such a hurry the other day; it had been rude, and if she happened to catch sight of him, surely she ought to stop and thank him for the lemonade.

And then, there it was, with the name newly painted on the bow: the _Edelweiss._

"Hello?" She called tentatively from the gangplank. Remembering what he'd said about women on board, she didn't want to go any farther than that. But there was no answer.

"Hello?" she tried again, louder, and then again, before turning away, trying not to feel disappointed.

"Hallo! Is that the little governess?"

Maria could hear him, but she still couldn't see him.

"Down here!" he called, and she looked beyond her feet into the oily greenish water to see Herr Detweiler – although she still liked to think of him as the Captain - bobbing in the water, his wet hair plastered darkly against his head, which was the only part of him showing. Were it not for his distinctive blue gaze, he might have been a sleek-headed sea monster.

"What are you doing there?" she asked.

He brandished a tool in one hand. "The engine. Stay right there," he ordered. He clenched the tool between his teeth, like a pirate's knife, and reached for a rope ladder that hung over the boat's edge. Maria had the impression of broad, dark-haired chest and muscled shoulders, before the hot sun made her dizzy and she turned away.

But not before she noticed a heap of clothing at the top of the ladder. Did that mean-?

"I just came by to thank you-" she said over her shoulder, keeping her eyes carefully closed against the sun.

"All clear," he chuckled. "You can turn around now."

As Maria stepped off the gangplank and onto the deck, she had to remind herself that she was the same brave girl who had dared to trick a sea captain. "I know you don't welcome visitors," she said with forced gaiety, "so I won't stay, I just-"

"You might as well. I'll get us something to drink. It's hot as hell today," Detweiler grumbled, abandoning the last few buttons on his shirt before scrambling below.

In truth, Georg was glad of the distraction. He'd spent most of the morning grappling with the engine, which was going to take longer than he'd expected.

He was also out of sorts, not only because of his failed encounter with Klara a few nights back – she'd worn a dress in a bilious shade of green that left him queasy and definitely not in the mood – but also after last night's meeting with a barmaid named Berta. They'd spent a quarter-hour necking furiously in an alley behind the bar, leaving him painfully aroused. But when he asked her to come back to the _Edelweiss_ with him -

"Mmm," she purred agreeably, "but there's just one thing, dearie. Call me Dorinda, won't you?"

"Dorinda? But I thought your name was Berta."

"It's a game I like to pretend when I'm – you know. With a man. I'm Princess Dorinda and you're Prince Alaric."

Fairy tales reminded Georg of nothing so much as his daughters, so he'd sent Berta away with a large tip and gone back to the _Edelweiss_ alone. No wonder he was glad to have the little widow to occupy his thoughts.

At first, all he could find below was the bottle of champagne he'd put on ice on more than one occasion, hoping for a companion to share it with under the stars. But that bottle was most definitely not intended for the merry little widowed governess, or whoever she was, he thought, continuing to search his supplies until, at last, he climbed back on deck with two bottles of beer tucked under his arm.

"Have you got any lemonade?" she asked, and he looked at her pityingly.

"I'm a sailor, Maria Rainier. This is a ship, not a nursery." But she looked so mortified that he took pity on her. "Come on back here and have a seat."

A broad platform lined the stern, and Detweiler quickly produced some colorful cushions from the chest beneath.

"Is this where you sleep?" she asked, wide eyed. "It must be magical under the skies, at night!"

"Yes. I've got quarters below, but they're not very comfortable. Unless the weather's bad, I usually bunk right here."

"This is quite elegant for a sailboat, Captain," she said, perching on the edge of the platform and looking all about her admiringly before sipping cautiously at her beer.

"It's not just a sailboat," he chastised her. "And it's not an it, but a she, remember? She has an engine, and she's capable of medium range journeys, quite capable. Not a transatlantic crossing, but very nearly."

"What will you do when winter comes?" she asked, and then they were off, talking of the plans for his journey, heedless of the sun moving across the sky and the beer bottles emptying, at least until Maria opened her mouth to ask yet another question and let out a loud belch.

He was still laughing when she staggered to her feet.

"Oh, no! I'm sorry, I'm just not used to – oh, dear!" She let out another belch.

"Next time, we'd better stick to lemonade after all," he observed. "What's wrong? Other than your manners?"

"The ship. The boat, I mean. Is there a storm coming?"

The girl seemed quite alarmed, though Georg couldn't imagine why.

"No, the weather's quite calm, Fraulein. Why?"

"Because the whole world is spinning," Maria said, lurching toward him, and before he knew it, he had a lapful of limp widow. Was she making some sort of pass at him? He held her away from him, at arms' length, searching her face for an answer, and just in time, because in the next moment, she had vomited all over his feet.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

It was a miracle, Maria lectured herself the next day, peering at her pale face in the mirror, that she had not been discovered. The headache and roiling stomach that had sent her to bed before supper and kept her there all night and well into the morning, had been a small price to pay for her good luck, as had her embarrassment about what had happened on the boat.

Detweiler had brought her a glass of water and smoothed her hair from her hot cheeks with a damp cloth, and all while, he'd been calm and reassuring – "sailors do this all the time, you know. A few buckets of water and the deck will be as good as new, same for my feet," – but she'd nearly had to beg him to let her make her own way home. From now on, she would have nothing to do with the town.

But a week later, boredom had set in again. Maria continued to try and consider her future at Nonnberg, and the mysterious question of what she could expect of herself, but she found it nearly impossible to find God on the stark-white beach under the bleached-blue sky. She thought longingly of the little stone church she'd visited in town. The priest's weekly visits to Clara's apartment just weren't the same.

When she finally returned to town, she scurried virtuously past the docked boats as fast as she could in Lily's tight shoes, intent on a short visit to the little stone church and a quick return to the Hotel Strand.

But when she came out of the church, her Captain was sitting on the steps, as though he'd been waiting for her.

"I thought I just might find you here," he joked, but his eyes were kind. "Are you fully recovered?"

He _had_ been waiting for her.

"P-please don't ask me that," she stammered.

"It happens to everyone. Why, when I was your age-" he stopped abruptly.

Georg _was_ relieved to see her in one piece – he'd felt like an insufferable cad, letting her teeter off like that, although she'd insisted on it. "I've been coming by here every day, hoping to run into you. To make sure you got home safely. It was partly my fault, after all, serving you beer on a hot day."

"I guess I'm not much of a sailor," she said ruefully.

He shot her a devastating smile.

"May I buy you a lemonade to make up for it?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

After that, the weeks flew by in a tumble of bright sun, warm breezes and the continual murmur of the ocean.

At the hotel, Maria's duties were hardly onerous. Her major duty seemed to be listening to Clara's stories about her career, her many friends, books, music, her travels with her husband, and always, about Lily. Maria quickly learned that behind the older woman's powdered cheeks and vague manner was a sharp mind capable of remarkable insight.

Just as important, the older woman lavished Maria with affection in a way that made her realize just how thirsty for it she'd been since her mother had died a dozen years ago. Her aunt and uncle had generally ignored her, busy as they were battling with each other. And while Maria knew the sisters at Nonnberg loved her in their own fashion, that they were the closest thing to a family she had left, the Abbey was, after all, about a different kind of love.

Her heart swelled with love and concern for Clara. Every few days, often as one of the waiters appeared to wheel away the remains of their breakfast, Maria would introduce the same topic of conversation, asking cautious questions: "Are you sure you wouldn't like to go out, Clara? Not even for a little walk? Perhaps in the evening, when it's cooler, and the sky is so lovely?"

Clara never lost patience with these requests, but she didn't change her answer, either. She seemed to believe it was wrong, somehow, to take too much pleasure from life, now that Georges couldn't.

"Oh, no, Maria darling, I just _couldn't._ Not without Georges, you see. It wouldn't be right. Now, let's see. We have correspondence to catch up on. To begin with, we owe Susannah a letter, you know, to let her know how nicely we're doing together. What else shall we tell her?"

Ask her how I'm supposed to know what to expect of myself, Maria wanted to say, but she couldn't very well say that.

Nor could she tell Clara _or_ Reverend Mother, neither one of them, about what occupied most of her thoughts lately: the adventures she was having in town, with Max Detweiler, her very own sea captain.

Following their meeting on the church steps, another week had passed, during which they both pretended that it was a coincidence, the way they kept meeting every day, if not on the church steps, then outside the café under the arbor, or – most often, it turned out - at the little bench overlooking the harbor. But very quickly, it became a routine she welcomed, and knew that he did as well, though his gruff manner wouldn't allow him to admit it.

Every day, when Maria set out for town, she told herself she'd use the time it took to walk there constructively, to think, really _think,_ about her vocation, and to consider what she could expect of herself, whatever that meant. But she always got distracted, anticipating her time with Max Detweiler, and wondering what they would talk about. By now, she'd stopped worrying about being discovered, and never even looked over her shoulder to be sure she wouldn't be called back to the safety of the hotel's grounds. She simply skirted the harbor as fast as she could in Lily's borrowed shoes, and twenty minutes later, she was greeting Max.

She had the routine down pat on the other end, too. She didn't even have to ask the time to know when it was twenty minutes to four, and time to head for home. Every time, her Captain would compliment her, telling her she was as good as a sailor, the way she could tell time by the sun.

Back at the hotel, the three waiters, Hans, Kurt and Friedrich, would trip over each other to offer her the lift, but Maria dismissed them kindly and danced up the stairs, entering the apartment just as Clara emerged from her afternoon nap.

And in the time in between, Maria and her Captain always found something to talk about: his travels – to China, India, America, and Scandinavia – the man had been everywhere! Then there was music, of course. And they invented a game of guessing each other's tastes in everything: books, art, ice cream, flowers (on that, they agreed, it was the Edelweiss), films, food, authors, poets. Week by week, their guesses about each other grew sharper.

On the hottest days, they visited the café under the arbor, where he ordered her lemonade extra sweet and with no teasing comments, which she appreciated. When it was cooler, they strolled the streets; Maria admired the way he always found a few coins for any wandering musicians, though he couldn't possibly have much money himself.

One day, they walked by the casino, hunched grey and silent along the shore, windows shuttered as though it were napping. Maria paused, trying to picture it stirring to life at sunset, remembering the magical view across the harbor at night, how the glowing casino bathed its surroundings in light.

"Isn't it lovely?" she sighed. "It's like something from a fairy tale. I like to imagine what it's like inside, with music and dancing and delicious food and beautiful men and women. Sweet smelling air and laughter. No worries, no sorrows."

Her innocent enthusiasm for everything never failed to amuse Georg, except when it irritated him. If he were perfectly honest with himself, he envied her. How did the girl stay so damned cheerful, after all she'd been through?

"What's so lovely about it?" he said with a sour expression. "The people in there waste their time and money. They throw away their dreams. And that's all there is to it." He felt like a churlish oaf, having broken her fantasy to bits. The casino just wasn't his kind of place at all, that was all he'd been trying to say.

He watched her blue eyes go wide as she said dreamily, "Well, _I_ think it's beautiful, Captain," and wished he could borrow her heart. Just for a moment.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

That night, like she always did, Maria looked out her bedroom window across the harbor. The casino's reflection shone out over the water, just as it always did, but tonight, her eyes sought the twin masts of a red-and white sailboat.

The Captain was a confusing person, and not a very cheerful one, there was no pretending otherwise. On occasion, it seemed as though his mind had wandered to some far-away place, so that to get his attention, she'd have to repeat his name – "Max? _Max?"_ and sometimes even " _Captain?_ " before he would finally startle to attention, often with a cynical or impudent response. He rarely smiled, which was just as well, given how it made her feel when he did.

Maria wasn't sure exactly what the rules were about men in her situation, but she was quite confident that she hadn't crossed any lines. According to Clara, even Reverend Mother had flirted with boys before taking her vows, hadn't she?

And _this_ wasn't even a flirtation, not at all. Why, ever since she'd told him she was a widow, Max had been nothing but respectful, a perfect gentleman in all regards. With the exception of their very first meeting, he had always been clean, though his clothes were sometimes rumpled, his shirt occasionally only half-buttoned, and he was often unshaven.

His reliable presence, day after day, could easily be explained as a simple matter of consideration for her widowed state, Maria told herself. There _was_ the gentle press of his hand at her back, a touch whose memory lingered on the skin under her dress for hours, but that was a polite gesture meant to help her across the street or up a steep hill or flight of steps. There was also the image of the bare-chested Captain who had greeted her on her visits to the _Edelweiss_ , an image so firmly imprinted on the inside of her eyelids that it sometimes kept her from sleeping.

But what of it? It was only a matter of weeks until he was off on his great journey, and as for Maria's journey-

She still didn't know. She wasn't sure she could expect herself to become one of the sisters at Nonnberg. But if not, what exactly _could_ she expect of herself? Maria missed Salzburg, especially the mountains, dreadfully. She missed Reverend Mother and Sister Margarethe and even, perhaps, Sister Berthe. But she had also come to love Clara and her new family at the Hotel Strand.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

By now, Maria had also grown accustomed to the bright, endless sea and the sky stretching wide above it. Perhaps it was the stories her Captain told her, or simply his solid presence next to her on the bench overlooking the harbor, but it didn't seem nearly so threatening any more. Puffy white clouds, like great drifts of whipped cream, floated in a perfect blue sky. The water murmured and crashed, the waves tumbled and hissed, and the colors! Bright green nearest the shore, then turquoise, and then a dark, nearly impenetrable navy.

"How deep is it?" she asked him. "What lives on the bottom? How far from land can the birds fly? What do you do for drinking water? What do you eat? Are you ever lonely? Or scared? What if you land somewhere and you don't know the language? How do you tell poisonous fish from the safe ones? What do people wear in the tropics? What do you do for money?"

"Hold on," he laughed. "One question at a time. You are worse than any enemy interrogator!"

"What do you know about enemy interrogators?" She swatted him on the arm. "You're not a soldier, you're a sailor! And I'm sorry, but it's just that – well, I have always longed for adventure, you know, and I'd give anything to see the world as you have. When I listen to you, I feel like I'm missing out on something wonderful. It's not like I have a future as a sailor."

"Not one that drinks beer, anyway," he teased, but when her face fell, he hastened to add, "If it weren't for your circumstances, you'd have a bright future indeed. You're a smart girl, with a sharp mind and a clever tongue. You'd fit in anywhere, really. As a journalist. Or a college professor. Or even a spy!"

"Do you really think so?"

"I do, yes. There are plenty of women with half your talent making a go of it."

Her face brightened as she sprung up from the bench and began to pace circles around him. "You know, I think that's what I'll do. Go _looking_ for adventure. I'm trained as a teacher, you know, and teachers are needed everywhere. Perhaps I'll go to Vienna. Or Paris. Or even America! It could be so exciting, to be out in the world, to be free!"

"What about Lily?" he pointed out.

"Oh! Lily! Well, of course I'll take her with me. I take her everywhere, you know. Unless she's napping. I'm totally devoted to her. I'll just have to – I know! I'll get her a governess! That would be just the thing!"

"A governess?" He stared at her. "But I thought you-"

Maria barely noticed his astonished expression. Because at that very moment, just then, a little dream took root in her heart and began to sprout. Max might _think_ she had a daughter holding her back, but she knew better.

His words made her feel bold, like she could shed her postulant skin and become someone new, someone brave enough to go out into a world that shimmered with promise, and find the life she'd been born to live. Maria positively burned with the sudden knowledge that she might expect a great many things from herself after all. A great many things indeed.

Georg thought he had never met someone who could get so much out of another person's experience. It was impossible not to get swept up by the girl's enthusiasm, and he never tired of answering her questions one after the other, speaking of winter storms, of loneliness and fear, of the sea birds and the stars and the incomparable beauty of a sunset at sea. Because while her questions were simple, they inspired him to continue preparing for his journey, and distracted him from the troubling matter of all he was leaving behind – the life of service to his country and loyalty to family that he'd always believed he'd been born to live, until it had betrayed him.

And anyway, he had learned from experience that she would evade any questions he asked in return. For example, nearly every day, he asked after her daughter, a question that always seemed to catch her off guard. Still, simple courtesy required him to inquire.

"Another three weeks or so, and the _Edelweiss_ and I are off. When will you and Lily be returning to Salzburg?"

"Lily? Oh! Lily! About the same time you'll be departing, I suppose. It will be nice to see home again," she sighed.

Poor girl, pretending to be homesick when he suspected a broken heart.

"If you are going to insist on leaving the sea for the mountains, I have just the poem for you," he said, and when she turned toward him, face lively with interest, he quoted Goethe:

 _ooo_

 _I saw the sea gleam, and the sweet waves glitter:_

 _Lively sails crossing it, with a following wind._

 _My heart felt no desire: my languishing gaze_

 _Soon turned back again towards mountains and snow._

 _How many treasures lie Southward! Yet one in the North_

 _Like a great magnet draws me irresistibly back._

 _ooo_

"Oh, yes, that _is_ me! Another one, please! This time about _you,_ " she demanded, and he obliged with a clumsy translated bit of an old chestnut, but there was no better way to express his feelings about his voyage:

 _ooo_

 _I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,_

 _And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;_

 _And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,_

 _And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking._

 _I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide_

 _Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;_

 _And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,_

 _And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying._

 _I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,_

 _To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;_

 _And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,_

 _And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over._

 _ooo_

"You know a great many poems, don't you," Maria said admiringly. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Rilke," he said promptly, "especially the one about the sunset," and he went on to recite:

 _ooo_

 _Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors_

 _which it passes to a row of ancient trees._

 _You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you_

 _one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth._

 _leaving you, not really belonging to either,_

 _not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent,_

 _not so unswervingly given to the eternal as that thing_

 _that turns to a star each night and climbs-_

 _leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads)_

 _your own life, timid and standing high and growing,_

 _so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,_

 _one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star._

 _ooo_

As a younger man, Georg had loved the Rilke poem: it spoke to the challenges he faced, trying to make sense of the emotional heights and depths of war, deeply in love with, and pining desperately for, his wife and their children when duty called him away from them. His life back then was like the sunset, set between day and night, both and neither. It was the human condition to live with the stone and the star, all at once. Agathe's death had changed him, though. He was, by choice, blocked in permanently; there was not really anything else he wished to reach for, not anymore. The little widow, on the other hand, seemed to be reaching for the heavens, and he envied her for it.

"But that's exactly how I feel!" Maria burst out, and then stopped short, expecting his usual skeptical reply.

But the Captain only leaned forward eagerly and asked,

"How so?"

But how could she explain it to him? She, too, was caught between two lives. One, as an errant postulant hoping to serve God as nun, she'd been sent away from. One, as bereaved wife and mother to a little girl, she'd invented. Maria belonged to neither of those lives, but something else she couldn't identify. How she wished she could tell him about it. But that was impossible.

And anyhow, he was somewhere else, lost in thought. Maria wondered about her Captain, a man who, despite his rough appearance, knew literature, art and opera, though he had spent his life at sea.

"Max? _Max?"_

"Hm? Oh! What is it?"

"How old were you when you had to leave school?"

"Leave school?" His brow furrowed, trying to parse the odd question, and then had to smother a laugh when he figured it out. No need for her to hear about the years of private tutors, the cultured upbringing, the private university education he'd enjoyed before the Naval Academy.

"I don't hold much with formal education." he said with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm self-taught, mostly. A man gets more out of reading during the long nights at sea than he does out of any teacher."

"Now hold on," she said, crossing her arms, "Have you forgotten that _I'm_ a teacher? With some college training, in fact. If you think for one minute that teachers aren't-"

Laughing, he held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry! I never really had the opportunity to have a good teacher. Not one like you, anyway. Not where I came from." Georg told himself that his words were true, in their own way.

With a look full of pity on her face, she said, "I understand, Max. There's no need to be embarrassed about it. I'm from a fairly modest background myself, you know." Her soft hand covered his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Before he could think about it, he squeezed right back.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Don't own, all for love, etc. I appreciate the reviews and favorites! I will become much more of a beggar for reviews when we get to the later chapters where things begin to unravel.**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4: Where Is The Start of Night?**

Before Georg had met the little widow, nighttimes were for women, and daytimes were for his boat. But now that Maria occupied his afternoons, he was falling behind on repairs to the _Edelweiss,_ and he needed to be on his way before the fall weather started. Without letting himself think too much about it, he stopped going out at night, instead working by lantern, sometimes until it was nearly dawn, to get the sails installed.

He didn't quite understand why, exactly, he kept seeking out the little widow's company. She _was_ intelligent, attentive, easy on the eyes, and wanted nothing from him, which suited him fine. He hadn't come to Trieste to get caught up with another woman so quickly after disentangling himself from Elsa, and on the eve of his journey.

But it was odd, the way he never tired of the girl, because she really was not his type at all. Except, of course, in one respect: she, too, had lost the love of her life. A pity, poor Maria, weighed down by a daughter she seemingly wished to forget. And no wonder: the child, Lily, probably reminded her mother of everything she'd lost.

He ought to know.

Georg couldn't help wondering how she had recovered from the death of her husband. He'd even thought about asking her, but what reason would a confirmed bachelor sailor have to inquire about the emotional affairs of a widow? Maybe it was simply a matter of time – he had four years to her seven. Would another three years really bring him the peace Maria had found?

Pushing away the question, he returned his attention to the second sail.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Day after day had brought perfect weather, until one morning, the sun refused to come out from behind the clouds. Thunder grumbled low from far away, and the sky spit rain.

All morning, Maria had been out of sorts. It was unkind of her even to think it, but sometimes, Clara's demands for attention were nearly as confining as the walls of her apartment.

And there were only two weeks left until she was supposed to return to Nonnberg. Maria had begun to think about how she would break her news to Reverend Mother. "Things have changed, Mother," she'd begin. "I am not the same anymore."

But if Mother asked her, 'what can you expect from yourself now, Maria?' would she know the answer? She had the beginnings of a plan, to travel and teach, but the details didn't quite add up, for example, she spoke no languages other than German. How would she manage? And would the excitement be enough to fill the lonely distance from her beloved Salzburg and her Nonnberg family?

As soon as Clara disappeared for her nap, Maria found an umbrella at the back of Lily's closet and set out for the harbor, feeling foolish for even hoping that her Captain would be waiting for her. She reminded herself that even if he were there, she'd have to put aside her cares for the future and instead, share some news of Lily. Max seemed to be asking an awful lot of questions about her fictional little girl lately, and it would be wise to put him off of any suspicions. Then, as quickly as she could, she'd turn the conversation back to him; that was always easy enough. He liked talking about himself, and she liked listening to him.

Of course, in this weather, he'd probably stay safe and dry on the _Edelweiss_ – but no, there he was, standing by the bench like always. They repaired to their favorite café and were soon deep in conversation.

Georg didn't want to admit it, but he was relieved that she'd braved the bad weather to meet him. With only two weeks left before his departure, he found his thoughts turning to home and his children, more often than he wished, and he was in need of a distraction. He wanted desperately to talk about his journey, but today of all days, Maria had decided to go on and on, at considerable length, about her daughter.

"I've been teaching Lily to swim," she confided, "and her reading is coming along so well, too. I'm totally devoted to her, of course. She's such an easy child! Never wicked or difficult in the least. We spend every minute of the day together, except for her nap. I've been thinking that it will be time for music lessons soon, but I can't decide between the violin and the-"

It was odd, the nearly feverish manner in which she spoke about her daughter today, after having displayed a troubling lack of interest in the little girl for most of the summer. Georg listened politely, at least for as long as it took to conclude that she _was_ a good mother, despite her youth and seeming carelessness. And the little girl – Lily - sounded like a walk in the park compared to his seven.

Still, today, had found Maria's chatter about her daughter curiously unsettling, and instead of listening to her, he'd let his mind wander to other things. Things like a husband gone seven years, and daughter young enough for long, daily naps, yet just learning to read, and the right age for the violin.

There was something that didn't add up, but then again, Georg had been, at best, a rather remote father figure. What did he know? Other, that is, that that _his_ children would be better off once he was gone.

"I'm sorry, Max. I must be boring you to tears. You don't like children, do you?"

He startled to attention, realizing that Maria must have misread the grimace on his face.

"What? Children? No, no. It's not that. I just – ehrm - well, I haven't been around them very much, really. I haven't got much family. My parents are gone. They were only children, as am I," he explained, killing off a dozen cousins, a handful of aunts and uncles, and his dear sister, all in a matter of a few syllables. They would never know the difference.

"I imagine it would be difficult, traveling around the world like that, if you had left a family behind," she said. "I can't quite picture you with a wife."

Flinching at the unintended blow, Georg forced a smile onto his face.

"I thought I made that clear the day I met you. I like women too much to be married to just one of them." It had been true in its day, hadn't it? Before Agathe.

"But you must have had lots of girlfriends," she said shyly.

"No. I've a heart of stone, you see," Georg said, as cheerfully as he could manage. "I love women, don't get me wrong. The ones without a heart left to break. The kind that tell naughty jokes, drive too fast and climb trees. Who sneak out at night to drink champagne and waltz till dawn."

The rain had picked up now, drumming incessantly at the café windows. He signaled the waiter for another drink, though the glass in front of him was still half-full.

"I just don't like the marrying type of woman. I mean – ehrm - present company excepted, of course," he fumbled.

The little widow didn't seem to have taken offense, in fact, her face glowed with excitement.

"Oh, Max, that sounds like so much fun! The climbing trees, and the dancing and, oh, just _all_ of it! I don't know a single naughty joke, not even one. And I've never even had a taste of champagne."

She couldn't possibly be as innocent as she appeared. Could she? Georg suppressed a sudden urge to tell her the joke about the French governess, just to see what would happen, and instead, reminded her, "But you _were_ married." Perhaps this was his opportunity for a bit of gentle interrogation. "Speaking of which - ehrm - what about your husband?"

"What about him?"

Maria's lively face had suddenly gone pale and guarded.

"You never speak of him," Georg pressed. "How long were you married?"

"Long enough."

"It couldn't have been that long," he frowned, "What was he like?"

"My – ehrm - my husband? Oh. Well." She hesitated, studying the ceiling as though she would find the answer written there.

"Oh, he was brilliant. _And_ handsome. He loved to dance and he had the most beautiful voice you can imagine. He was quite charming, too; everyone liked him. And we never argued, not even once, in all the time we were married."

What the hell? The little widow had been living in some kind of fairy tale, apparently, with one perfect child to his seven barely human offspring, and with a husband whose only flaw was that he was dead. In Georg's experience – his parents had been married for fifty years, and he for twenty – he knew that even happily married couples had their differences.

Her eyes dropped to her lap, as though she thought she might find even more superlatives there, and then she added, "And he was very – ehrm - _devoted_ to me, you know. Why, we never spent even a single night apart." Her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment.

Georg knew what that last part meant, anyway. They'd had a good time in bed. Somehow, that didn't surprise him. Suddenly, he wished he hadn't lied to her. He'd do anything right now to learn her secret. But he'd have to settle for much less.

"What was his name?"

"His name?"

"Yes, his name. Like yours is Maria, and mine is – ehrm - Max."

"Oh! Right!"

Maria had so lost herself in her fairy tale family, that she very nearly forgot that her husband didn't exist. Husband. Her husband's name? Her mind went to the first husband she could think of, the one who'd belonged to Clara.

"Georges." Her tongue twisted around the unfamiliar French, but then: "I mean – I mean – Georg, of course. Yes. His name was Georg, and – why, Max, what's wrong? Why do you stare at me that way?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

When the good weather resumed, they returned to the little bench, where they found themselves a week later, sharing a companionable silence, staring out at the horizon, and enjoying a cool breeze.

Georg glanced down at the brown paper package that rested on his lap, and pondered the best way to give her the unwelcome news. Not only was it very short notice, but it was proving more difficult than he'd expected to find the words that would strike a careful balance between affection and regret. Words that would convey how much he'd enjoyed her company without stirring anything up that was better avoided.

She let out a long, mournful sigh.

"What was that for, Maria?"

"Well, it's just that the summer's nearly over and I – I mean we, of course, Lily and I – will be returning to Salzburg, and after that, well-" she gave a rueful laugh. "Oh, what's the _matter_ with me?"

"I've got a poem for autumn," the Captain said. "Rilke." Leaning back to let the sun warm his face, he recited:

 _After the summer's yield, Lord, it is time  
_ _to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials  
_ _and in the pastures let the rough winds fly.  
_ _As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness.  
_ _Direct on them two days of warmer light  
_ _to hale them golden toward their term, and harry  
_ _the last few drops of sweetness through the wine.  
_ _Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter;  
_ _who lives alone will live indefinitely so,  
_ _waking up to read a little, draft long letters,  
_ _and, along the city's avenues  
_ _fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen._

The poem's matter of fact tone only made Maria feel more panicky. The summer that had borne rich fruit for her was coming to an end, but she had only a vague plan for what came next. What if she went back to Nonnberg, only to have her courage escape her entirely, so that she remained there indefinitely, tethered by fear of the unknown?

"Perhaps it's already too late," she muttered, half to herself.

"Too late for what?" Max asked, and before she could compose a reply, he added lightly, "I don't know exactly what you're worrying about, Maria, but I'm sure everything will work out fine. You know, my mother used to say, 'When the Lord closes a door, somewhere, He opens a window.'"

"What kind of ridiculous saying is that?" she snapped. Maria couldn't understand why she was being so cross today, and to a man who'd been nothing but kind to her. She just wasn't in the mood for a devil-may-care sailor's attitude.

But he only lifted an eyebrow and said, "Well, then, if you don't like my mother's advice, what would your Georg say?"

"My Georg? I haven't got a – oh! Well, he'd – that is, I suppose, he'd-"

Mercifully, Max changed the subject.

"Anyway, Maria, Rilke has it wrong. It's not so terrible, to wander around for a bit without a plan. Looking for your life."

"And have _you_ found it?"

"I think I have," he said defensively. "I _know_ I have."

"Don't you ever miss having a home? A family?"

The Captain's face shuttered closed, and an awkward silence came between them. Maria's heart sank at the sight of his profile, cold and remote, staring out at the sea.

"Max?" She placed her hand on his sleeve. "You're far away. Where are you? "

"Hm?" He startled and looked at her like he was surprised to find her by his side. "In a world that's disappearing, I'm afraid." Then he shook his head.

"Never mind that." Georg abandoned his attempt to deliver the news with diplomacy. "Look, Maria. I've got some news. It's time to – I mean I have to - there's a big storm brewing west of here, and I've got to get out ahead of it, or be delayed by longer than I can afford. So I'm off tomorrow, first thing. I was hoping we'd get those last warmer days, like in the poem. But it's not possible, I'm afraid. I've enjoyed every moment we've had together, you know, and I – ehrm – I wanted to give you this." he finished awkwardly, handing her the package.

He wasn't prepared for it, the way she made no attempt to conceal her reaction. Shock, loss and grief were frozen on her face, and he had to swallow and look away, focusing instead on the tidy package, watching her long, graceful fingers tear away the brown paper.

"Oh, _M-Max,_ " she said unsteadily, though it wasn't clear whether she was more affected by his news or the gift: a battered, well-loved volume of Rilke's poems. "But this looks like it was very special to you. Are you sure you want to give it up?"

He shrugged carelessly.

"I've got to offload _some_ weight, you know. Now. It's another hour until you have to leave. Can I buy you one last lemonade?"

"I have a better idea," she said shakily. "I was thinking, and I was wondering, if you would - I want you to take me to the casino."

Georg let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"Absolutely out of the question. It's not at all what you think, Maria, I told you. You'd just be disappointed. _And_ they don't open until after sunset. _And_ we wouldn't be dressed for it."

By now, she had regained her composure.

"I can come after Lily's asleep, tonight, and of course my aunt will be there with her. I'm sure I can manage a dress. No, I _want_ to go to the casino," she insisted, crossing her arms across her chest, "and I _will_ go there, too, with or without you, Captain. If you're leaving tomorrow, then tonight's your only chance."

"Don't threaten me," Georg grumbled. But he didn't like the idea of her in that place alone.

"Then I'll ask nicely instead. _Please,_ Max? Just this once? You've been so kind to me this summer, can't you do this one last thing for me? I haven't _ever_ had that sort of fun. The kind you were talking about, with champagne, and dancing. I mean – ehrm – it's been a while. I'd do just about anything to get to see it. I'll even beg if I have to, you know."

Maria put her hand on his arm again, and looked up at him through the dark fringe of her eyelashes.

"Well-" he considered. But there was no resisting the smile that spread across her face.

At that moment, he felt something shift, like a boat coming about so that the wind filled his sails. She was _flirting_ with him! He blinked, noticing for the first time that perhaps Maria _was_ his kind of woman - warm, funny, appealing – more than appealing, actually. She had a sort of wild beauty about her. Those creamy, freckled shoulders, the pink cheeks, even the beguiling frocks that were just a shade too small for her. The choppy haircut had filled out in recent weeks into a tumble of golden waves. And then there were those eyes. A man might lose himself in those eyes.

Was it possible that she felt it too?

Maria was a widow, not a _nun_ , for God's sake. In his categorization of women, he hadn't really thought about widows. There was no chance of an untidy attachment forming, Georg knew that from his own experience. Not only was she charming and lively, as refreshing as a cool breeze, but she was also experienced. One might not think it, with her innocent, girlish demeanor, but her daughter was proof otherwise.

"Very well," he said suddenly. "The casino it is. Tonight. Just come to the _Edelweiss_ when you can manage it. I'll wait for you there."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Now all Maria had to do was wait. She'd poured herself into the dress, struggling with the zipper until her cheeks glowed with exertion. Or maybe it was just excitement. Ear to her door, she listened for the last sounds of the household closing down for the night: the clang of the ash can as Annette emptied it; the loud click of the apartment doors being double-locked, the snick of Clara's bedroom door closing. She'd wait another quarter-hour, just to be sure.

She wandered restlessly around the room, stopping periodically to look out the window toward the harbor, where her Captain was waiting for her. She was trying very hard not to think about it: tonight was the last time she'd ever see him, and he was leaving her with some complicated feelings she could hardly bear to consider. But he had given her a gift of confidence in a bright future for herself. Her dreams were closer than ever to coming true, and there seemed no better way to celebrate than one magical night in the company of the man who had encouraged and inspired her. Thinking of gifts, she picked up the volume of Rilke poems and paged through it idly until the words jumped off the page:

A Woman In Love

 _My window is just over there.  
I woke up feeling soft and light.  
I thought: I'm floating on the air.  
How far does my life reach and where  
is the start of night?_

 _I feel everything so near,  
as though it were a part of me;  
as though I were a crystal: clear,  
yet silent, and so hard to see._

 _At times I feel that I could touch  
the stars and gather them all in.  
My heart is large: I want so much  
to let myself let go of him_

 _whom even now, perhaps, I've started  
to love, perhaps to hold.  
So unfamiliar, so uncharted  
is this fate I feel unfold._

 _Who am I who have come to dwell  
in this vast infinitude,  
drifting with the sweetest smell  
the open fields exude,_

 _calling out, yet full of fear  
that someone might receive my call  
that I am destined to disappear  
into someone else, once and for all._

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

It was damned difficult, tying the white tie with only a tin mirror to guide him. The whole enterprise was quite a nuisance, in fact. With only hours to go before embarking on a major sea voyage, instead of laying in supplies and charting his course, Georg had spent the later part of the afternoon in town, acquiring a set of evening clothes he'd wear just this once, before discarding them; there would be neither room for them nor need, once he was on his way. He felt only half dressed without the Maria Theresien medal, but in his role as Max Detweiler, itinerant sailor, he'd have to forgo it. It would be hard enough to visit the casino without being recognized.

Thinking of the promising night ahead, his smile widened to a grin. For the tenth time in as many minutes, he checked his jacket pocket for the small package hidden there. The champagne was on ice. While his quarters below were dark and stuffy, he'd already arranged the cushions comfortably on the wide platform up above. The other boats crowded around his berth would allow them no privacy, but after the casino, once he had her back on board, he'd motor them out a ways, to a secluded cove he'd found on the map. The weather was perfect for what would happen next, under the stars.

Georg let his mind imagine the tempting possibilities for a minute or two: her soft skin under his fingertips; her round breasts in his hands; her lush mouth under his. Her lovely voice singing out her pleasure, crying his name out to the skies.

But it wasn't his name she'd be crying out, now, would it? A bitter smile curved his lips. What would be worse? To hear her call Max's name? Max didn't even _like_ women! Or his own name, knowing she was thinking of her dead husband?

Either way, Maria would be spending the night with a man she really didn't know. It was a shame, something he'd always regret, that she hadn't met the man he was capable of being. Not that it mattered, he thought with a grimace. That man didn't exist anymore, not really. In his place was a man alternately bitter and shallow. And he'd be leaving first thing in the morning, anyway.

The interlude of fantasy came crashing to a halt, and then there were her footsteps above.

"Permission to come aboard?" she chirped. He peered at the little mirror one more time and hauled himself up through the hatch, where the sight that greeted him made his mouth go dry.

Maria wore a long, cool slide of indigo silk with a daring low back, while the front was only slightly more modest, cut low enough to display the sweet curves of her breasts. The deep color set off her bright hair and creamy skin. Her gown fit closely enough to confirm that her legs began somewhere around her ears and didn't stop.

But perhaps most breathtaking of all was the glow on her face: an odd but unbearably arousing mix of tentative innocence and carnal promise that fired his blood. The girl – no, the woman – was like a puzzle Georg wanted to solve. He was _going_ to solve, tonight.

"Is something wrong, Max?"

It took another good long while before he could find any words at all.

"N-no. You look-" ravishing, he nearly said, but that was too close to the truth of what he wanted to do to her, right then and there. "Lovely," he settled for, but it was enough to elicit a bewitching smile from her. "You got away all right?"

"Oh, yes," she laughed, "they're all out cold for the night, I'm sure of it."

"Good! Listen - I've got something for you. Turn around."

"What?"

"Go on," he motioned insistently until she presented her bare back to him. Georg swallowed back a groan at the sight, reached into his pocket and turned to the business at hand. From the moment he'd spotted the pendant in the window of an antique store in town, he'd known it was for her. The dull shine of a bit of gold, a large, perfect sapphire, the smallest sprinkling of diamonds. It was oddly comforting, to think that after tonight was lost to memory, his gift would remind her of their time together.

"Close your eyes, Maria, and look down for a moment."

"What are you-?"

"Shh," he told her, and she obeyed, trying not to think too much about the tickle of his fingers at the back of her neck.

"There," he said approvingly, and when she opened her eyes, she couldn't hold back a little gasp at the beautiful jewel that glowed warm against her skin in the cool evening air.

"Oh, Max. It's _beautiful_." She brushed her fingers against the stone with near reverence. "But I couldn't possibly accept something like this. How did you-?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't – how did you - ?"

"No, I didn't steal it," he chuckled. "It belonged to – ehrm – to a friend, is all. I haven't any use of it, not where I'm going," he said casually.

The mention of his imminent departure cast a momentary pall over things, but Maria was the first to snap out of it.

"If this is our last evening, then we mustn't waste a moment of it. Shall we, Captain?" she said, but there was something endearingly tentative about the way she extended her arm. He tucked it under his and led her across the gangplank, up the pier, and into the night.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The next two hours hour flew by like a dream, leaving Maria with only fragmented impressions –a gay whirlwind of women, their glittering jewels and bright gowns gleaming against the backdrop of men clad in severe black-and-white. Bowing waiters bearing platters of treats, and more than a few delicious glasses of her first champagne. Sparkling crystal, soft carpets. Laughter, chatter, the spin of roulette tables, the calls of the dealers and the slap of cards. And above it all, the sweet, high sound of music filling the air. In the next room, she glimpsed couples spinning and gliding across the floor.

"Would you like to dance?" he was asking. Maria felt his gaze on her, as real as a caress. It was a welcome change; he had been distracted ever since they'd entered the casino, running a finger under his collar and glancing about uneasily.

I _ought_ to be the sort who dances, Maria thought.

"Oh! I can't. I don't know how to. I mean – I used to, but it's been a long time," Maria fumbled.

"Seeing how you took to the champagne, I also took you for the sort that danced."

"Oh, I was. It's just that I'm not sure I remember how."

She watched the Captain peer nervously into the room full of dancers and then before she knew it, he had escorted her outside, onto a broad, moonlit terrace that extended out over the harbor. The music seeped out of the ballroom and curled around the vast, deserted space.

"It will come back to you, Maria, I promise. The man leads, remember? All you have to do is follow. Like this."

Then she was in his arms, and they were dancing – no, they were _flying._ Maria felt as though she might at any moment soar straight into the night sky, were she not anchored by the warm brand of his hand against the bare skin of her back. The champagne had unsteadied her, but he held her firmly, so there was no chance of a misstep. Again and again, he led her down the terrace in wide, sweeping turns, until she was breathless. As the music slowed to a close, he tucked a hand around her waist and drew her close, so she could collapse against his broad chest.

"Again!" she demanded, although she was dizzy from the champagne, and Lily's shoes were beginning to pinch. But he shook his head, glancing uneasily toward the ballroom.

"You wanted to see the casino, and now that you've gotten your wish, it's my turn. Do you know, in all our afternoons together, we never walked on the beach, not even once. Come on."

Twining her fingers in his, Max led her down a flight of stone stairs that ended at the head of a pebble- studded beach. Graceful palm trees leaned out toward the sea, which, more agitated than usual in advance of the big storm, foamed and tumbled, shattering the reflected glow of a golden moon hanging low in the sky.

It was as beautiful as the mountain brooks she'd waded in, back in Salzburg. It was only when he asked her, "what's stopping you?" that she realized she'd spoken out loud.

"I'd never make it down the beach, not in these shoes," Maria said ruefully.

The next thing she knew, the world turned upside down: he had hoisted her over his shoulder, restrained her kicking legs with one arm, and hauled her, shrieking with glee, straight down to the water's edge. Then he set her gently on the ground, knelt at her feet, and removed her shoes.

"Go on, then. Wade!" he directed, with such an imperious gesture that she couldn't help saluting him in return.

"Yes, sir, Captain!" She lifted her skirts to her knees and splashed exuberantly down the beach. He sauntered alongside, hands jammed in his pockets, and the whole time, she could feel his eyes on her.

When they reached the pier, he knelt once again to help her back into her shoes: Maria teetered on one foot, clutching at his shoulder, while he cupped her other foot in his palm, squeezing it gently. It felt – strange. And heavenly.

Her shoes restored, they strolled back along the pier, and the Captain once again twined her fingers in his. There was nothing helpful or gentlemanly about this contact, no practical reason for it, nor for the occasional brush of his thumb against her palm. Maria found it difficult to think about anything else but the place where their hands were joined. The next thing she knew, they were back at the _Edelweiss_.

"We're here? Already?" Maria felt as though her heart had suddenly dropped all the way to her feet. Much too soon, it seemed, the sad moment was upon them, when it would be time to bid her Captain farewell. "I don't suppose we could have one last drink to celebrate? Not beer," she finished hastily. "Water will do fine."

Her suggestion was welcome, since Georg realized he hadn't given much thought about how to get her back on board the _Edelweiss._ But he'd have to careful not to let her overdo it. Not only did he want to avoid a repeat of the beer incident, but he wanted her sober enough to know what she was doing. His sense of honor would demand no less.

"As it happens, I've got some champagne. But just one glass," and his blue eyes crinkled in a smile as she scampered eagerly on board.

From the boats berthed on either side of them came merry sounds of laughter, glasses clinking, and tinny music. Maria perched on the edge of the wide cushioned platform and watched him shrug out of his jacket, remove his tie, and unbutton the top few buttons of his starched white shirt.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "That's a pretty uncomfortable get-up for a sailor. I hope you don't mind."

"I – no, not at all." She knew she was being rude, staring at the column of his throat that way. _Her_ throat felt awfully dry. "My champagne?" she reminded him.

"Right. One glass only, now." He gave her a strange look, one that made her feel like a meadow full of butterflies had taken flight in her belly, and disappeared below.

Overstimulated by the noise coming from all around them, giddy from champagne and dancing, and awash in emotion, Maria found it impossible to sit still. Kicking off her tight shoes, she began to prowl the deck in circles, round and round, each time carefully skirting the gaping hatch. What was he doing down there, anyway? She'd make one more circuit, that was all, and then she'd call down with an excuse, something about having to run, even though she didn't want to.

Georg glared at his shaking hands, disgusted. It was a bottle of champagne, for God's sake. She was a woman. He had plenty of experience with both. After he wrestled the bottle open, he tucked it under one arm and two tin cups under the other, and hauled himself up through the hatch. His heart dropped when he saw the empty platform.

Had she stolen off into the night?

"There you are! I've been waiting-" he heard her say from behind him.

He turned to find her right _there,_ only a few inches away, so close he caught her warm, delicious scent. So close, he imagined he tasted her sweet breath. So close, he very nearly thought he could feel her soft skin under his fingers.

Before he could stop himself, bottle and cups crashed to the deck, and he had her in his arms.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Sorry this was so long – I was getting tired of all the setup. So what do you think will happen now? I love the thoughtful reviews I've gotten and would love me some more. Don't own, all for love.**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5: Uncharted Waters**

Georg threaded his fingers through the golden silk of her hair, and watched her blue eyes go wide as he brought her face close to his. But at the last possible moment, he stopped himself, relaxing his hold and waiting, patiently, for Maria to take the next step. The commotion all around them, the bright lights and noisy clamor of it, faded away, and it seemed like the world around them was holding its breath, waiting for her response.

When at last, her soft mouth brushed tentatively against his, it was permission enough for him to tighten his grip and unleash himself on her.

Georg knew almost immediately that something was not quite right; she held herself stiffly in his arms, and kept her mouth clamped firmly shut. Could his instincts have misled him? Yet when he loosened his hold and began to pull away from her, preparing to offer an apology, Maria gave a little grunt of protest and dug her fingers into his upper arms. He took this as a sign of encouragement, and went on kissing her.

The part of Georg that never stopped analyzing and strategizing – the part that had served Austria so well – considered the situation. Could it be possible that a married woman had never learned to kiss? Had it been some kind of arranged marriage? It certainly hadn't sounded so. But he set himself to investigating this improbable theory.

When, at last, he gently coaxed her mouth open, she melted against him, with a little sound of astonished delight that nearly undid him. After that – well, her mouth was sweet, and hot, and she was a _very_ fast learner.

Her Captain kissed her, and she kissed him back, and he kissed her some more, until Maria was so dizzy that she couldn't tell up from down, until her toes and fingers curled against the flood of new sensations – the surprising and generous softness of the mouth that had always seemed so stern, the heat rising from his solid body, his taste and scent. She'd been kissed before, of course, but those kisses had been more like handshakes, compared to what was happening with her Captain: something fierce and sweet, something blissful and wicked.

He slid his mouth from hers, pressing fervent kisses along her jaw until he found a spot behind her ear that turned her inside out. He lingered there, his lips playing with that one small patch of skin until the thrilling sensation spread out over every square inch of her body. The harsh rasp of his breath both exhilarated and frightened her; as for herself, Maria could hardly breathe at all.

She barely recognized her own voice letting out a low, husky moan: "oh, _Max_ , oh-" but he mumbled what seemed to be a protest and very suddenly returned his attention to her mouth, until he had swallowed her words with kisses. Meanwhile, he skated his fingers down the bare skin of her back, leaving little sparks of pleasure everywhere he touched her, until his big hands cupped her bottom and pulled her hard against him. How perfectly she fit there, nestled against his chest, sheltered in his strong arms.

"Oh, _Max_ ," she sighed again, looking up at him. "Max, I-"

"Shh," he murmured, tapping one long finger gently against her lips until she quieted. He was watching her carefully, like a predator before the pounce. His dark blue gaze was utterly mesmerizing.

He must be worried about all the people around them, Maria thought. _She_ didn't care, as long as the kissing didn't stop; so, feeling daring, she clasped her hands around his neck and pulled him back into position, tugging gently at his soft hair until she felt the shape of his smile against her mouth, and then they were at it again, kissing and kissing, _drowning_ in each other's kisses, as though kissing was something they'd been meant to do all along, and had just realized they had a great deal of lost time to make up, and only this one night in which to do it.

While his one strong arm kept her anchored firmly against him, now he slid the other hand along the curve of her waist and upward until, gentle as a butterfly, it grazed her breast. There was the fleeting shock of being touched there; she never would have expected _that_ , but she couldn't help arching into his caress, until, at the gentle rub of his thumb at the tip of her breast, Maria went soft to the bones.

Before her legs could go out from under her completely, Max caught her around the waist and lifted her, as easily as if she were made of feathers, onto the wide cushioned platform, and sat close beside her. Without a moment's hesitation, he began to dance his fingers along the edge of her bodice, watching her carefully as though to gauge her reaction. When he slid his hand beneath the neckline of her dress and fondled her bare skin, the world caught on fire: suddenly, Maria wanted his touch _everywhere._

" _Oh_."

"What is it, darling?"

"C-can this be happening to me?"

"That depends, sweetheart," he said in a silky voice she recognized – her Captain, the first time they'd met on the church steps. "Do you want it to?"

Just then, raucous laughter erupted from the boat on one side of the _Edelweiss,_ and as if in reply, there was an exuberant burst of music from the boat on the other side. Maria felt her cheeks flame red, as though the outburst had been intended for them, but he only clucked his disapproval and rose to his feet.

"Don't go anywhere," he whispered, before disappearing below deck.

The night air was soft and warm against her skin. Maria felt positively giddy, stirred up by kissing, champagne, and disbelief at her own shocking behavior. But she wasn't _going_ to be a nun, after all, - at the moment, she was quite glad about that - and perhaps this was just an ordinary sort of experience for a girl – a widow, she reminded herself - in her situation? Maybe she could ask Max for advice, as he had lots of experience with girls. The idea made her giggle. Her pulse was racing, but with excitement, not fear: while he was taking liberties beyond the borders of her limited experience, this man was her friend, her protector. He would never do anything to harm her.

What was taking him so long, anyway? Once again, she teetered to her bare feet and went in search of him.

It was a lucky thing, the rude interruption from the neighboring berths: Georg knew perfectly well that otherwise, he'd have had her on her back by now, and privacy be damned. His desire for Maria coursed through his blood like carnal fire, until he was half out of his mind with lust. It had taken the last few shreds of his self-control to break away from her. Now he moved slowly, deliberately, as he prepared to start the engine, fearing that if he didn't slow things down, he'd frighten her. Hell, he was frightening _himself_. They were both going to be out of practice, and good sense dictated a careful approach. Things couldn't go much farther, anyway, until he peeled her out of that dress, which was going to be a challenge. The sooner he got them out of the harbor and into a more secluded spot, the better.

"Captain? What's taking you so long?" she warbled from up above.

Dear God. After a slow start, his little widow had obviously warmed up until now, apparently, she could hardly wait for it. She'd kissed him so greedily that he could almost _taste_ the craving on her lips, the desperate feelings she'd kept bottled up for too long. This was going to be _splendid_ , Georg thought. There were hours left before dawn, enough time for them to –

-although in the next moment, he was thinking about how it took any pair of new lovers a few times before they could relax and enjoy each other. Despite her responsiveness, she _was_ a little rough around the edges, and it was a shame they wouldn't have more time together, for him to show her everything he wanted to. For a moment, he considered the possibility of delaying his departure a day.

Maria barely registered the thump and thrum of the engine coming to life. "Captain?" she demanded again, and a moment later, he was back on deck, dazzling her with a grin that set those butterflies loose in her belly once more. He immediately moved to the prow and began working at the line that tethered the _Edelweiss_ to its pier. She found herself momentarily distracted by the play of his muscles under his white shirt, but then remembered about the kissing. What had happened to the kissing? Maria wobbled toward him on bare feet.

"What are you doing, my Captain?"

"Just taking us a little way out into the harbor. I know a spot where we can have some privacy."

"But-" Maria found it difficult to form her thoughts into words. "But how will I get back home?"

"I'll have you back before dawn, I promise," he said.

Before _dawn?_

"You said they were out cold for the night, Maria, remember? No one will know the difference."

With her hair mussed and kiss-swollen lips, she looked utterly tantalizing, but she also looked troubled. Georg left the line half-tied and reached for her hand.

"Look, darling. I understand what it's been like for you," he said gently.

"What _what's_ like?" she asked.

"What it's been like for you, these past few years."

"Oh, I doubt that," Maria said warily. The Captain's flirtatious tone hadn't unsettled her, not like it had the day they'd met, but there was a strange note of tenderness to it now, and a softness in his blue eyes that made her uneasy.

"But I do. More than you know. You've experienced a very great loss, of course. One that can't be-" He stumbled and then started again. "Look, Maria. By this time tomorrow, I'll be far down the coast, all by myself, but I'll always remember the way we – and I hope that when you return to Salzburg, you'll - well, before we go our separate ways, I thought – that is, I hoped - that we might offer each other some comfort, for just this one night."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, and then her wrist. When he looked up at her, his eyes caught and held hers with a strange intensity, until she had to look away. Was he talking about the kissing?

"Well," she said, bewildered, "it was no trouble, really. After all, we've been great friends."

"We are that," he said gravely. "But we are also adults. One grown man, and one grown woman. One very charming and _beautiful_ grown woman. Maria, darling. Please. I want very much to take you to bed-"

The fire in her eyes had gone out, replaced by confusion. When her gaze skittered over to the wide, cushioned platform, he hastened to clarify, though it hardly seemed necessary.

"-and make love to you, Maria."

With that, Georg watched confusion swiftly gave way to horror.

Maria's stomach lurched, as the waves of shame and fear washed over her. For one moment, she feared she would once again be sick all over the deck of the _Edelweiss_ , but somehow, she rallied.

" _You_ – do you mean to tell me that you thought I would – that we would-" she felt her cheeks grow hot, and she couldn't bring herself to say the words out loud.

"What the –?" Now it was Georg's turn to be confused. "Well, yes, I thought-" He ran his hands through his hair. "I thought you wanted us to-"

When she crossed her arms tight against herself in reflexive self-protection, her fingers brushed the necklace. " _This_ ," she gasped. "The necklace – was this supposed to be some kind of-?"

"Gift," he finished, "It was a _gift_. Nothing more, nothing less."

"A gift with strings attached, you mean."

"Maria, please. I see that I made a terrible mistake. I didn't understand – I never meant to - You've got to believe me. Please. _Please_ let me try to explain."

When he took a step in her direction, extending his hand to her, she stumbled backward, shrinking from his touch.

"No!" she moaned. "Don't. I just need to go home."

"Of course, Maria. Whatever you want. But please. If you would just wait one more minute and let me-"

But the thought of another moment spent in Max's company was too humiliating for Maria to bear. Putting her fingers to her throat again, she yanked the pendant from her neck and hurled it in his direction before turning toward the gangplank.

"Maria? Where are you going? You can't just – it's not safe out there!"

He crossed the deck and began to pursue her across the gangplank, but then she turned toward him, her fists clenched in anger.

"No! Don't you dare come near me! You wicked _, evil_ man!"

All Georg could do was stand helplessly on the deck of his boat, and take one long last look at his little widow, as she rushed headlong into the night.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

By the time she neared the hotel, the pavement had torn at the tender soles of her feet, and Maria had to limp the last fifty meters or so. Of all times, tonight, she wished for the lift, but there were no waiters about to help her, not this late, so she made the slow, painful climb up five flights of stairs and let herself into the apartment.

And there, in the center of the foyer, with a crown of white hair flying in every direction, stood Clara Rousseau. Waiting.

The whole story came out, then, all of it, the rakish sea captain, the lie that started it all, the trips to town in Lily's borrowed dresses, and the evening in the casino with its frightful conclusion. Maria wept out her grief and shame onto Clara's shoulder, while the older woman murmured sympathetically and stroked her hair. She didn't even bother reproaching Maria for having ignored her warnings about the town.

"I blame myself," she told Maria. "I should have thought of more ways to entertain you. I've been a selfish old thing, I suppose, just wanting your companionship."

"Oh, Clara," Maria sagged against the settee. "You've been nothing but kind to me. It was _his_ fault, not yours. He pretended to be a gentleman, someone worthy of my trust, someone who believed in me, and then-" her voice grew thick with tears – "he betrayed me. Thinking that a _necklace_ would lure me into-"

"Never mind, dear," Clara patted her hand. "You probably didn't run into a lot of rakes in Nonnberg Abbey. Now that you'll be going out in to the world, well, next time, you'll know better."

Maria sat up very straight.

"Next time? Clara. Does that mean that you know-?"

"That you're not going back to Nonnberg? Oh, Maria darling, I knew that within ten minutes of meeting you," Clara said smugly. " _That's_ not the life you were meant to live! Knowing that, I suppose, I should not have been so protective, but I had promised Susannah that I'd watch out for you. Oh, dear," she flustered, "instead of forbidding you the town entirely, I should have helped you learn to navigate it. I would hate to think that this incident would shake your confidence."

Exhausted and hurt as she was, Maria searched her broken heart and found one part of it curiously untouched, the part that held her dreams of adventure.

"No," she said, lifting her chin. "I've still got confidence in – in me. I'm not letting him take that from me."

"What do you think dear Susannah will say about your plans, Maria?"

"I think," Maria said slowly, "that Reverend Mother will be pleased. She asked if I could expect myself to come back to Nonnberg. For the longest time, I thought that meant I'd be disappointing her if I didn't. But the Captain said – I mean, I think I've come to see that I can expect something _else_ of myself. Something good. I am trained as a teacher, you know. I might try to go to America."

"America!' Clara yawned. It was, after all, long after midnight. "Perhaps you'll get to Chicago! And," she yawned again, "Lily. You'll meet Lily."

Maria yawned widely in response, and together, the two women turned out the lights and retired for the night.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The sky was still clear the next morning, although the newspapers were full of warnings about the massive storm that was expected to hit Trieste within a matter of hours. Maria busied herself with plans to return to Salzburg and tried to focus on the promising future that lay ahead, and she told herself sternly to put the humiliating incident of Max Detweiler behind her. But as the morning wore on, and the sun went to hide behind steel-gray clouds, her thoughts stubbornly returned, again and again, to her Captain.

For one thing, she could still _taste_ him. She could go to confession every day for the rest of her life, she supposed, but nothing could ever erase the memory of his scent, the feel of his big hands on her waist, the dance of his fingertips on her bare skin. _Or_ the mark he'd left on her heart. And for another thing, Maria couldn't very well anticipate the adventures that lay ahead without acknowledging the role he'd played by inspiring and encouraging her.

Soon enough, she began to second guess herself, to feel embarrassed and humiliated for having overreacted last night, as though she were still a schoolgirl. Maria might be innocent, but even she could understand what an unattached bachelor might have expected from a friendship with an equally unattached widow. Yes, he had kissed her, but she had kissed him back, and with great enthusiasm.

He hadn't forced her, he'd asked her permission more than once, and he'd seemed genuinely surprised when she refused him. It wasn't his fault that she'd lied to him. How she wished she had told him the truth from the start! Of course, if he'd known she was a postulant from Nonnberg Abbey, there would have been no cozy chats, no necklace, no waltzing, and no kissing. Now she'd have those memories forever - and he, unfortunately, would remember her too. He'd probably get a good laugh out of her overreaction.

When Clara retired for her nap, Maria couldn't bear the thought of returning to town and seeing the vacant berth where the red-and-white boat had been, an empty space he'd left behind along with her broken heart. Instead, she went down to the rocky beach and sat, glaring at the angry sea and the lowering sky, until, instead of his taste on her lips, there was only the bitter salt of her tears.

By nightfall, the sky was spitting rain, but the real storm was inside, at the dinner table.

"Maria, darling," Clara began, leaning forward eagerly, "About this Detweiler man. Are you in love with him?"

" _No_. Don't be ridiculous, Clara." But then Maria slumped back in her chair and admitted, quietly, "I don't know. I don't know."

"Perhaps you ought not to judge him too harshly. How was he to have known your situation? I think you might consider – yes that's it. After the weather clears, you must go back," Clara said firmly. "And find out if _he_ loves _you_."

"Don't you understand, Clara?" Maria tapped her foot impatiently. "He made it quite clear to me that he is not the type to – ehrm – love _anyone_ , not that way. And even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I'm quite certain he's already departed. He's probably halfway down the coast by now."

"Too bad," Clara clucked. "I don't know what you're so afraid of. You've got to face your fears, Maria. If you're not going to be one of the sisters, you're going to fall in love and marry eventually."

A line from the Rilke poem, the one about a woman in love, suddenly came to Maria: _"I am destined to disappear/into someone else, once and for all."_

"I will _never_ marry," she said, surprised at her own ferocity. "That is _definitely_ not for me."

"Why ever not? You have a great capacity to love, you know, and the love between a man and a woman is holy, too."

"Is that so?" Maria said crossly. "What did love and marriage do for you, Clara, besides break your heart?"

Clara's velvet brown eyes went wide with shock.

"But dear Georges and I – why, we were very happy! And there was our darling Lily, you know. When she left to marry her dentist, I told her to follow her heart. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't change a thing!"

Maria couldn't believe it of herself, that she would take out her feelings on this sweet old woman, but the words burst from her mouth on an uncontrollable tide of hurt, fear and shame.

"You are telling me to face my fears? Is that what you're doing, Clara? You've shut yourself up behind these walls as surely as if you'd gone into the convent with Reverend Mother! If that's what the love between men and woman is going to get me, I want no part of it!"

Maria regretted her outburst immediately, but there wasn't time to apologize before the older woman rose from the table and, with great dignity, swept from the room. A few moments later, Maria heard the door to Clara's bedroom closing with a bang.

Friedrich arrived with his trolley to begin clearing the table, and the dinner hour was at an end.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

By the next morning, the storm hit Trieste with full force. Even before breakfast was served, Annette rushed about, drawing the shutters against the pelting rain and howling wind.

Meanwhile, feeling pale and unsteady, Maria dug out the clothing she should not have abandoned in the first place – the full skirt and demure blouse – and went in search of Clara, offering an apology that was warmly accepted.

Still, Clara was in quite a mood. For the first time since Maria arrived, she sent back breakfast, complaining to Kurt about burnt toast and lukewarm tea. And after lunch, Clara announced, "I'm not going to nap today. We are going out," she added, as calmly as though a trip to town were an everyday occurrence.

"But Clara," Maria protested, "not in this weather! The storm-"

"There's no time like the present to make a change," Clara declared. "I've been moping about as though that might bring poor Georges back. The truth is, I was afraid to find out that I _can_ go on without him. As though that would mean I'd never loved him at all! I've been a coward. I was thinking about it, last night, about how when we were girls, how brave Susannah was, to turn her back on a comfortable, easy future to do what her heart demanded of her. And I look at you, how you dared to strike out on your own in town, how courageously you're facing the future. I was brave, too, once upon a time. And I want to be again."

"Well," Maria suggested. "We can start small, Clara. With a drink in the hotel café. How about that?"

"To the lift, Maria darling! We haven't a moment to waste!"

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Beyond the café's glass doors, the storm raged mercilessly, battering the now-deserted terrace and the rocky beach beyond. The indoor part of the café was terribly crowded, nearly bursting at the seams with hotel patrons. The air nearly vibrated with the sound of a hundred different conversations happening all at once, low murmurs and lively chatter and boisterous laughter. With everyone packed so closely together, it was impossible not to eavesdrop.

" _Those diamonds of hers? They're as fake as she is."_

" _And he's promised me a honeymoon in Paris!"_

" _It's been six weeks, and no letter. Not even a postcard!"_

" _Go ahead. Make me an offer! What have you got to lose?"_

" _I heard he lost his shirt at the casino last night."_

" _She's four months along if she's a day."_

" _It's yellow, my dress, but a serious kind of yellow, you know?"_

Maria threaded her way through the chaos, towing Clara behind her, until she managed to get both of them settled at a tiny marble table and ordered herself a lemonade.

"I'll have a glass of wine," Clara said. "Is it too early, do you think? Or – hm – maybe a sherry?" she flustered, turning her attention to the drinks menu. Maria smiled apologetically at Hans the waiter and waved him off, before letting herself be distracted by the raised voices of two men who stood nearby at the bar, with their backs half-turned to the room.

"Mark my words, old friend. You'll regret going through with it," declared the smaller of the two men, who was stylishly attired in a white linen suit.

"The only thing I'll regret is the delay you've cost me!" fumed his companion, in a voice powerful enough to cut through the surrounding din. There was something disturbingly familiar about that voice. "I can't believe I fell for your telegram yesterday. My Liesl and a messenger boy eloping? Ridiculous!"

"It worked, didn't it?" smirked the little man in the white suit. "You're still here, after all." He seemed unfazed by his irate companion, although the second man was two heads taller; even with his back half-turned to the room, and his rough suit of sailor's clothing, there was no mistaking his commanding presence.

It _couldn't_ be, Maria thought. He was out at sea by now, wasn't he?

"Now I'm stuck here for another two days, at least," the bigger man fumed.

It _was_ her Captain, Maria was certain of it now. With shaking hands, she snatched the menu card from Clara and held it up to shield her face.

"Maria! What on earth-"

"Shh! Don't turn around!" Maria hissed.

Clara promptly turned around and scanned the room.

"Why? Is there someone we know here?"

Someone we know? Maria thought. You haven't been out of your apartment for a year! But there was no time for that.

"Please, Clara, turn back this way and stop looking!" Maria begged, trying to keep her voice low, although there was little chance of his hearing her over the surrounding commotion. "It's him. Herr Detweiler, I mean. Standing at the bar. We've got to get out of here."

"Why, what a marvelous coincidence!" Clara positively beamed. "Now you'll be able to speak with him after all. I'm sure if you explain things to him, the two of you will be able to make it up."

"I told you, Clara. I don't want anything to do with him, and I'm quite certain he feels the same about me. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to slip out of here, as quickly and quietly as we can. Hans can send the bill upstairs." Maria wiped her clammy palms on her skirt and rose to her feet. "Let's go."

But Clara didn't budge.

"Maria, you're going to go and speak to him right now. I insist! I know it's awkward, darling. But you know what I always say. You've got to _face_ your fears!"

Maria shook her head stubbornly. "Absolutely out of the question."

"Fine," the old woman said calmly. "Then I'll do it for you." She turned round in her chair and called, "Oh, Herr Detweiler?"

Thankfully, no one in the cafe, including the two men at the bar, could hear Clara over the noisy crowd. But then Clara rose to her feet, and in a voice that had thrilled audiences in the highest balconies of the world's finest opera houses, she called out:

"Herr Detweiler? Max Detweiler?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Oh, no! What's going to happen next? I love all the thoughtful reviews and PMs I've gotten! Thanks for those! Happily, the next chapter is pretty well set up and shouldn't take as long to publish. I don't own TSOM or anything about it.**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: The Storm**

"Herr Detweiler? Max Detweiler?" Clara trilled once again.

The room fell silent. Oddly enough, while the Captain did not immediately respond, his white-suited companion, a man of elfin appearance, turned in their direction. He sported a small mustache and a large bow tie.

"I'm Herr Detweiler," he replied with a pleasant smile. "And you are?"

Clara sent a puzzled glance in Maria's direction, but Maria was, if anything, even more mystified by this turn of events.

After a moment, the older woman simply shrugged, muttered something to Maria about love being blind, and said, "I'm Madame Clara Rousseau, sir. And of course," she added with a twinkle, "I believe you know this young lady."

"No," elf-Max frowned, "I'm afraid I don't. How do you do?"

He extended his hand to Maria, who was too bewildered to do anything but return his handshake.

"Maria Rainier," she said with automatic courtesy, while in the back of her mind, she briefly considered the possibility that _both_ men were named Max Detweiler, cousins, perhaps, linked by some strange family tradition.

By now, the crowd around them had resumed its chatter. Maria concentrated on looking at nothing at all. She couldn't risk even a glance at Captain-Max, hoping to avoid any acknowledgement of their humiliating connection. But she wasn't going to be able to escape him; he turned toward the conversation and glared disapprovingly in her direction.

"Hold on." Captain-Max addressed her, "If _she's_ Clara, and you're here _with_ her, then where is Lily? You haven't left her all alone, have you?"

Maria wished that the floor would open beneath her and swallow her whole.

"Lily?" Clara's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Lily's in Chicago. With her little girl and her husband, the dentist. Where else _would_ she be? And how, _may_ I ask, do you even-" Then she peered at Captain-Max more closely. "You know, you remind me of someone – hold on, it's coming back to me, now-"

Maria choked back a noise that was part-laugh, part-sob, and said, "Clara. These gentleman – I mean – it's _this_ gentleman, you see –"

"I thought so!" Clara announced triumphantly. "There's no need to introduce us, Maria darling. There isn't an Austrian alive who hasn't heard of Georg Von Trapp. The man who single-handedly won the war at sea for our Empire. A fine man, and a brave one." She turned to Captain-Max. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

The Captain's face was a mask.

"You were probably barely out of nappies, Maria, darling," Clara went on happily, "when Captain von Trapp was knighted by the Emperor. Although there was a family title before that, wasn't there? Yes, I'm certain of it, because I was visiting my family in Salzburg when you came there to live, you and your lovely wife, and they always referred to her as the Baroness von Trapp, and that was _before_ the knighthood, so – now let's see, were there any children? I can't quite recall."

 _Wife?_

A cold hand closed around Maria's heart and tore it from her chest.

"An English girl, am I correct?" Clara rattled on. "I'm sure she was a great comfort to you after you lost your command. I remember her distinctly. As charming as she was beautiful."

"Thank you, Madame Rousseau," the Captain-Max – whatever his name was - said distantly. "You're very kind."

"Excuse me," the elf-Max broke in. "Are you _the_ Clara Rousseau? The renowned soprano?"

Clara flushed with pleasure.

"Why, yes. I'm not often recognized any more, but of course, back in the day-"

"It's an honor to meet _you_ ," said the little man. There was a queer light in his eyes. "Tell me, Madame Rousseau, I don't suppose you've left the stage for good, have you?"

 _Wife?_

Dizzy with shock and unable to draw a breath, Maria looked around wildly, seeking an escape, but the boisterous throng hemmed her in on every side. Clara was already deep in conversation with Herr Detweiler, so she didn't notice Maria turning away and pushing through the crowd, toward the big glass doors that led onto the terrace.

Rain lashed against the glass. Outside, dark clouds sat like a lid overhead, and across the terrace, she could see the palm trees bent nearly sideways with the force of the wind.

"Maria!" she could hear him shout behind her.

Overwhelmed by panic, Maria threw the doors open and launched herself into the storm, ignoring the complaints of the rain-splattered patrons sitting nearby. She made it halfway across the terrace before he was at her side.

"Little fool. Get back inside," he ordered. "It's not safe out here."

"I don't take orders from you, Baron Herr von Captain Detweiler-Trapp-whatever your name is."

When his fingers took her elbow, she tried to squirm away from him, but there was no escaping his grip as he nearly dragged her under the canopy that covered the main hotel entrance. There, half-sheltered from the storm, she shook loose of him at last. Rage and sorrow welled up in her chest, making her voice tremble with the effort to speak.

"You _lied_ to me," Maria said, trying valiantly to hide the hurt that ran beneath her anger. "You are a different person entirely! And you have a _wife?"_

"I do not, in fact, have a wife. I _had_ a wife, but all I have now is a _late_ wife. She's dead." He paused before adding faintly, as though reminding himself, "It's been four years now."

Then he shook himself back to attention.

"Maria. I'm sorry," he began. "You have no idea how many times I regretted having lied to you. I had no idea that this was going to turn into-"

"It hasn't turned into anything." she sputtered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, you can tell yourself that, but you're wrong. Something was happening between us. How old are you, anyway?" he said awkwardly.

"Twenty-three. What does that have to do with anything?"

"A great deal, as it happens. It's hard to explain. I'm _forty_ -three," he winced. "I was just so _tired_. When I met you, I wanted nothing more than to escape. I'd made such a mess of things with all of my children -"

" _All_ of your children _?_ " Maria said with growing horror. "How many of them are there?"

He cleared his throat.

"Seven."

" _Seven_ children _?_ You are abandoning _seven motherless children_ for a life at sea? How old are they?"

"The oldest is sixteen, and the youngest – she's five."

"Why, she's practically a lady," Maria said scornfully. "Tell me, _Captain,_ are they all girls?"

"No, I have two sons, but-"

"Well, this is a fine way to teach them to be men, isn't it? I can see that your children are a great comfort to you!"

"Not exactly. You don't know what you're talking about, Maria. They don't want me. They despise me, in fact. A loss like this -"

"I know _plenty_ about loss," she spat. "I never even knew my father. All I had was my mother. She was totally devoted to me, and when she died ten years ago, I lost the only real family I'll ever have. While you-" she pointed an accusing finger at him, "you are _choosing_ to throw yours away."

The noise and tumult of the storm faded into the background as a decade's memories of devastating grief washed back over Maria. Losing her mother was, after all, a loss far greater than the end of a girlish crush on a devious sea captain who was really someone else entirely.

So she nearly missed it, the subtle shift in his demeanor as he reached the end of his patience. His eyes were ice-blue chips, his fists clenched, and he pulled himself up to his full height before launching a shot across her bow.

"Loss? Maternal devotion? Coming from _you_? What kind of grief-stricken widow runs off at all hours of the day and night to associate with strange men in a shady town, leaving her daughter behind? Why, half the time you forget about her altogether!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Despite her misery, Maria had to laugh. "Are you talking about Lily? The real Lily is older than _I_ am. She's Clara' daughter, and she's married to a dentist in America, with a little girl of her own. I made it up. I made _all_ of it up. The husband, the daughter, everything. I've never even-" she caught herself – "been married."

"Aha!" he crowed. "I knew it! It was all too perfect! No one who has actually _been_ married or had a child would ever-" But then the light faded from his eyes. "- _could_ ever. Understand."

Of course, he was right. What did she know about anything outside the walls of Nonnberg Abbey? Maria's foolish attempt to step out of herself had led only to humiliation and disappointment. Her gruff, romantic Captain was someone else entirely, someone deceitful and elegant and – what had Clara said about a title?

"I am anything but perfect, but at least I admit to who I am." Which wasn't at all true, a little voice from within reminded Maria. "While, you, Captain Sir Lord von Knighted Baron Detweiler Trapp naval hero, whose wife was a Baroness-"

"She was an English aristocrat from birth. And the title has been in my family for generations," he shrugged. "It means nothing."

Maria couldn't believe this was the same man at all. What else had he lied about?

"So you're not Italian after all."

"My mother was half Italian, but no, _I_ actually _am_ from Salzburg, as it happens. We have various homes elsewhere, but I'm based in Aigen."

Aigen. Salzburg's poshest district. Of course.

"I'll bet you weren't exactly self-taught, either, were you?"

"No." He had the good grace to at least pretend embarrassment. "I had tutors, growing up, and boarding school, and a few years at University before the Naval Academy, and of course the Grand Tour, but I hardly see what difference that makes."

At that moment, Maria felt her dreams of adventure begin to shrivel up and blow away like so many ashes.

Of course she had known she and her Captain would go their separate ways - hadn't she? But her dreams of adventure were like a treasure he had left in her keeping. Now she saw that their talk of her fragile hopes had probably been no more than an amusing diversion to him. A joke. What came easily to people like _him_ were things that people like _Maria_ should never even dare to dream of.

It turned out there wasn't really anything she could expect from herself after all, except – if she were lucky – a return to Nonnberg Abbey.

"I'm not the only one who lied," his voice brought her back. "As I recall, you were rather evasive on the question of where, exactly, in Salzburg you claimed to live. Not a very convincing performance. Where are you really from?"

"No. That part was the truth. I grew up in the mountains outside Salzburg, but now I live-"

But the words simply wouldn't leave her mouth. Because when they did, he'd never think of her the same way again. Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to summon, for one final time, the sweet memory of his dark blue gaze on her that last magical night, the surprising softness of his mouth, the solid heat of his body against hers.

But it was impossible to return to that time, to block out the storm that continued to rage around them. When Maria opened her eyes, she could see the trees whipped to the ground by the howling wind. Torrents of rain blown sideways had left her cheeks damp and tendrils of hair plastered to her forehead. The man facing her was similarly disheveled. He ran his hands through his dark hair and glared at her.

She took a deep breath and forced the words out in a rush.

"I'm-a-postulant-at-Nonnberg-Abbey-and-I'm-going-to-be-a-nun."

He wasn't angry or even shocked. He just laughed.

"Don't laugh at me."

"Well, then, don't lie to me, Maria."

"It's not a lie. I'm a postulant. A nun in training, more or less. I was sent here for the summer to be Clara's companion."

"I thought you were going to be – I don't know – a journalist? Or a teacher, or a spy. Or something like that."

"Oh. _That_ nonsense? Nothing more than a silly game. I thought you understood that," she said, willing herself to sound like Sister Berthe, matter-of-fact and severe. "In fact, I am ready at this moment to take my vows. I'm going to be a nun."

"No, you're not. Not with that-" his eyes ran down along her body and back up to her face, before his voice dropped to a whisper, "-that mouth."

Although there was no hope of explaining it to this stranger, Maria wanted to understand it herself. "You wouldn't understand. The Abbey is where I belong. I'll - I'll be safe there."

"Safe."

He made it sound like a curse. He raised an eyebrow, and the contempt in his voice crushed any last bit of her hopes, which she felt fade away and die, along with his regard.

" _Safe,_ " he repeated. "From people like me, I suppose. I was some kind of experiment, was that it? Until - let a real man kiss you, just once, and you cover yourself back up in that – that _get-up_ , and scurry back to your hiding place. Well, go ahead then. Give yourself up to a bunch of dried-up old women. It means nothing to me. I would not have thought you a coward."

For just a moment, she thought she heard the bruise in his voice, but his words – _it means nothing to me_ – couldn't have been clearer.

" _You_ are the coward," she said in a low voice. "Running away from memories."

"Are you calling _me_ a coward?" his blue eyes blazed in his flushed face, and his roar nearly drowned out the noise of the storm. "Do you have any idea who you are talking to?"

"How could I, with all the lies you told me? _You_ are the coward, running away from-"

"I'm not the one who ran away that night. I'm not the one running away from _life_. You wouldn't know courage if it pinched you on the bottom. Just look at you!" he glowered. "You're hardly more than a girl and you've _already_ given up. At least I – I was not always a perfect husband, and God knows I am a failure as a father, but at least I gave it a shot. I lost my country. I lost my wife. And I've lost my children. But not without a fight, without trying, trying my best, for _years!_ And I would not trade it for anything, not any of it. Certainly not for a fairy tale that lives only in my head. Even _I_ managed to do better than that."

The Captain's words hit her like a blow. All around them, the wind howled and the relentless rain pounded and drummed on the stone terrace. There wasn't really anything left to do or say. It was too late to do anything but disappear behind the gates of Nonnberg Abbey. The whole summer had been a wasted chance and there was nothing left to redeem from it.

Unless – it was too late for her, but perhaps –

"I am not finished yet," Maria said bravely, surprising herself. "Now, about your children-"

"My children are none of your business," he said curtly.

"It's true, what you said about me," she said, her voice shaking with sadness and anger and something else she wouldn't let herself think about. "The only family I've managed is one I had to invent. But you have those children, and I've never met them, but I'm quite certain that all they want is to be loved. Please, Max. I mean – ehrm - Captain. Please, just love them. Love them all!"

Maria squared her shoulders, anticipating the onslaught of his reply, but to her surprise, his whole demeanor slumped in defeat and he was silent for a long moment. When he spoke at last, he was neither her affable Detweiler nor the imperious von Trapp, but some other man, flat and defeated.

"Don't you think I tried? I even considered remarrying for their sake, though my heart was not in it, and I did a great deal of harm to a woman who did not deserve it as a result. The problem is that _they_ don't love _me_. The more I tried with them, the worse they got, until now, I barely recognize them. They've turned into a pack of animals. They've driven off eleven governesses, if you can believe it, and I cannot even manage to find a twelfth. I wrote to your precious Nonnberg Abbey, in fact, and even they couldn't help me! No, my children will be better off without me, I can assure you. They blame me, you see, for what happened."

"They couldn't possibly-" Maria said, but she knew he wasn't listening to her.

"They blame me, when in fact, _I_ was the one who tried to save _them_. When Marta got sick, and then Louisa, I wanted to hire a nurse, but they would not let their mother go, and she wouldn't hear of it, either. She nursed the two of them, and then two more, and then she got sick and died. She played the hero, but she was too stupid to do it well. It wasn't _my_ fault, none of it. It was _their_ fault, for getting sick, for clinging to her, and it was _hers_ for – oh, God."

Something brought him up short, as though he'd just received a shocking piece of news.

"Oh, God," he repeated.

He was utterly distracted, having departed to a place Maria couldn't reach, and she struggled to bring him back. Because there was unfinished business between them, one more thing she had to confront before she went back to Nonnberg for good.

"And another thing, _Captain_."

He didn't reply, he barely seemed to have heard her, so Maria raised her voice until she was very nearly shouting over the storm.

"Are you listening to me? That night on board the _Edelweiss._ When you gave me the - because you wanted me to- when you tried to-"

"Hm?" he said absently, dragging a hand across his face. "Oh – well. _That._ Of course, I was wrong. Disgracefully wrong. I misunderstood - but there was no excuse for it, and I do beg your pardon."

But Maria could see his mind was somewhere else. Although her heart was still pounding a furious rhythm and her mind raced with questions and accusations, their argument had apparently come to an abrupt end.

The Captain barely seemed to even notice as she stepped around him. There was nothing else for her to do but enter the hotel's main doors and wait for Friedrich to summon the lift and escort her back to Clara's apartment.

Maria went straight to her room, closed the door, and didn't come out again until the morning, staying silent when she heard Clara return to the apartment, when Kurt wheeled the rattling dinner trolley off the lift, when Clara and Annette in turn knocked softly on her door to ask after her.

At some point, Maria undressed and got into bed, but when sleep wouldn't come, she went to the window and threw open the shutters. Although clouds still blotted out the moon and stars, the rain had turned to a damp mist, and the air felt fresh and cool. By force of habit, she strained to see the harbor, and the twin-masted boat, before reminding herself that the captain of that vessel was a stranger to her.

She wandered restlessly around her room until her eyes fell on the Rilke volume. When she picked it up, she noticed – how had she missed it before? – that one page was bent at the corner, as though marked for frequent use.

 _The Song of the Widow,_ she read, and her heart filled with fear as she began to read, before it broke apart completely:

 _OoOoO  
_

 _In the beginning life was good to me;  
it held me warm and gave me courage.  
That this is granted all while in their youth,  
how could I then have known of this.  
I never knew what living was-.  
But suddenly it was just year on year,  
no more good, no more new, no more wonderful.  
Life had been torn in two right down the middle._

T _hat was not his fault nor mine_  
 _since both of us had nothing but patience;_  
 _but death has none._  
 _I saw him coming (how rotten he looked),_  
 _and I watched him as he took and took:_  
 _and nothing was mine._

 _What, then, belonged to me; was mine, my own?_  
 _Was not even this utter wretchedness_  
 _on loan to me by fate?_  
 _Fate does not only claim your happiness,_  
 _it also wants your pain back and your tears_  
 _and buys the ruin as something useless, old._

 _Fate was present and acquired for a nothing_  
 _every expression my face is capable of,_  
 _even to the way I walk._  
 _The daily diminishing of me went on_  
 _and after I was emptied fate gave me up_  
 _and left me standing there, abandoned._

 _OoOoO_

Maria's eyes burned with bitter tears. She had told a pack of childish lies about a pretend husband and child as a _lark_ , to spare herself embarrassment, but with no real understanding of what losing a beloved spouse might actually have meant to someone like the Captain. _Or_ Clara, for that matter. Her heart filled with guilt and shame.

What have I done? she thought despairingly. The Captain had been right: she was a coward, afraid to face and conquer her doubts about her vocation. She had put a foolish desire for adventure ahead of service to God, been ashamed of something she ought to have been proud of. Maria knew she would regret her behavior this summer for a very long time to come. At the end of the week she'd go back to Nonnberg and hope they'd let her stay. Even if it were offered to her, she wanted no second chance for adventure.

She crawled back into bed and waited for sleep to come, but the words of the widow poem haunted her still. _You_ are not a widow, Maria reminded herself, _you_ are not entitled to their pain, but she found herself whispering the words, making the ache her own:

" _Life had been torn in two right down the middle…What, then, belonged to me; was mine, my own?"  
_

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **What great reviews I've been getting! Thanks! I was interested (and honored) that several reviewers thought that the previous chapter was a conscious flip of my last (M-rated) story, in terms of what Georg does and doesn't know about Maria's innocent or not-so-innocent past. But it wasn't intentional, this story actually was well-formed in my mind before that story was. It's fun to think about what might have happened had she stayed on that boat longer. Maybe I should write an alternate version.**

 **I had a blast writing this chapter, as you might imagine. I was so worried that the nature of the cliffhanger at the beginning wouldn't be clear, with two Maxes, but I guess it was. I hope you liked it, and also I hope you will leave me a review and tell me so!**

 **I don't own anything about TSOM.**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7: The Country They Call Life**

 **TWO MONTHS LATER**

The robing room at Nonnberg Abbey wasn't a room at all. It was more of a corridor, actually, although a wide one. Its walls were lined with orderly rows of hooks: on one side hung the worldly clothing left behind by new postulants, dresses, blouses and skirts, with baskets of discarded shoes beneath; every once in a while, these leavings were bundled up for Salzburg's poor. On the other wall hung a collection of postulant habits and aprons, with baskets of wimples and study shoes beneath. Set precisely in the middle of the corridor was a small table, which held the pile of garments Maria was leaving behind.

Clad only in her knickers, Maria stood looking from one end of the space to the other: to her left, Reverend Mother's office, and to her right, the entrance to the convent. Three years ago, when she'd entered the Abbey for the first, time, she'd made the journey from left to right like any other girl. Of course, you rarely heard about girls who made the journey in the _other_ direction, the way she had on the day she'd left for Trieste at the beginning of the summer.

Surely, she was the only person to have gone back and forth _this_ many times. Well, this was the last time for sure. Sighing, she began to dress, and within another minute or two, she had turned toward the door at the end of the corridor.

"Very nice," Reverend Mother said. "Very - ehrm - colorful."

"The pattern's a bit much," Maria chuckled. She tugged at the brightly flowered full skirt, which barely covered her knees. "And the skirt's not quite _enough."_

"I'm just finishing your letter of recommendation." Reverend Mother said. "You'll be needing it someday."

"Thank you," Maria began, swallowing away the lump in her throat. "Thank you for everything, Mother."

The old woman waved away the thanks. "No, Maria, thank _you_. Among other things, for everything you've done for Clara."

It _had_ been a remarkable transformation, to be sure. Maria had stayed on Trieste for another two weeks after the storm, long enough to help Clara establish a new routine of daily walks, first to the hotel beach and then along the harbor into town. Accompanied by one of the three waiters – "for protection against the shadier elements," Clara insisted - the two women had attended a concert or two, and even dined in one of the cafes. On each of these excursions, as they skirted the harbor, Maria forced herself to contemplate the empty berth once occupied by a red-and-white sailboat, and to confront the certain knowledge that by now, with the weather long having cleared, her Captain was far out at sea.

Clara's rediscovered sense of adventure provided enough distraction to make the days pass pleasantly enough. Maria had let the golden light and shimmering heat of summer's last days soak into her bones, storing them away for the Salzburg winter to come.

The nights were more difficult: night after night, Maria lay awake, until her restless mind drove her to the window to watch the moonlight shimmer on the harbor. Memories of her Captain pricked constantly at her heart, and her thoughts churned endlessly as she tried to make sense of a summer's worth of lessons about love. Love had held Clara prisoner, but had driven her Captain to flee. As her heart turned back toward Nonnberg Abbey, was Maria seeking a prison or a refuge? She wasn't sure.

By the time she returned to Salzburg, the constant whirl of emotion had eased, leaving her feeling hollowed-out and oddly peaceful. The sisters had accepted without question her request to be left alone in a small, windowless cell, and she spent that first difficult week alternating between fitful naps and hours on her knees, waiting patiently for God to fill up the empty spaces. But He remained hidden from her.

Twice daily, there would be a soft knock on the door. This time, it was Sister Margarethe, with a bowl of bread and milk.

"Maria. Please, try to eat. You've got to keep your strength up." She hesitated. "Perhaps some fresh air would do you good. Not even a walk around the courtyard? No?" Sister Margarethe patted Maria's hand and turned to leave. She was halfway out of the little cell when she turned and said, "The gates are open, you know."

But Maria had only shaken her head.

The next day, it was Sister Berthe, with a plate of jam and bread. "The gates are open," she informed Maria brusquely, before turning away in a swirl of black-and-white habit. Maria shook her head again, even though there was no one to see it, before returning to her knees.

The next day, it had been Reverend Mother, bearing several large slices of apple strudel.

"Maria-"

"Let me guess. The gates are open."

"Yes, Maria. The sky is blue, and everything is so green and fragrant. It's God's world out there, too. Don't you think you ought to be a part of it?"

So Maria had dutifully slipped through the gates and made the trip to her mountain, where she sat still as a stone in the middle of the great meadow and waited and listened. Nothing. She went back the next day and walked slowly along the creek and this time, she was rewarded by the sound of a lark's high, sweet song. A few more days spent listening to the wind in the trees and studying the soaring peaks, and the shapes of the clouds in an impossibly blue sky, and something deep within her began to stir to life.

As another week passed, and then two, while life at the Abbey went on around her, Maria woke each morning, refreshed after a long, dreamless, sleep, and returned to the mountain once again, until her body felt strong, her mind certain, and her heart filled with the knowledge of God's love for her.

Late one night, she had crept through the deserted convent corridors and knocked on Reverend Mother's office door. It never even occurred to her that her knock wouldn't be answered.

Maria knelt to kiss her ring, but when the words caught in her throat, Reverend Mother came to her rescue.

"So you've decided, have you, Maria?" she asked gently. "To leave the Abbey for good."

Maria's eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I tried. I really did. I know you sent me to Clara hoping I would learn what I could expect of myself. I – I got lost along the way, but now -"

"No, Maria. The truth is – well, it was selfish of me, I know, but I sent _you_ to help Clara, not the other way around. And you did a splendid job of it! You have a great capacity to love, Maria. What you must find out now is how to spend that love."

Despite her distress, Maria had to smile. "Clara said exactly the same thing!" It happened all the time, Maria had noticed, that these two women, while living such wildly different lives, echoed one another's thoughts and expressions.

"But where will I go, Mother? How will I live?"

"The Lord will show you in His own good time," the old woman promised.

And indeed, it had been the very next day that Clara's letter had arrived, the letter that had changed everything.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

For the tenth time in as many minutes, he looked at his watch. The little foyer was stuffy and hot, and the blinds drawn tight, as though to protect against any inadvertent glimpses of the brilliant fall day. How long would they make him wait here for an answer? Not that the answer was likely to be positive, he knew that. But after driving by this place every day for weeks, he thought he owed it to himself, and possibly to her, to try.

The long hours spent with his children could be tedious, but they had given him time to consider the summer's events as carefully as he had once analyzed naval strategy. By now, his anger at the girl, his wounded pride and feelings of betrayal, had given way to regret and a wistful sense of loss. Quite apart from his appalling attempt to seduce her, he realized, he'd thought he'd found a friend in Maria. And indeed, the ferocious lust that had burned within all summer, even as he turned women away from his bed with one excuse after another, had flagged, leaving behind only the memory of a charming and innocent girl whom he had indecently propositioned, only to learn that she didn't want a man at all.

Georg shifted in his seat and began to tap his foot impatiently. Two more minutes, he decided. Two more minutes, and he'd be back in his car, on his way, and with no need to drive out this way again.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"There." Reverend Mother signed the letter with a flourish and handed it to Maria. "Are you sure you don't want a taxi?"

"I'd rather walk into town. It's still such a pleasure to see the mountains again," Maria reassured her.

"Well, then, Maria, if there's nothing else-"

"Your blessing, please," Maria asked, kneeling one last time. When she was back on her feet, she swept the old woman into a most unsuitable embrace – "and thank you, Mother, for everything!"

Hoisting her carpetbag over her shoulder, Maria strode confidently across the office toward the exit: not the door that led back to the robing room and the convent beyond, but the door on the far end of the office, the one that led out to the foyer, the courtyard, and from there, into the outside world.

"Goodbye, Mother!' she sang, and flung herself into the foyer.

When she saw what, or rather _who_ , stood waiting there, Maria tried to turn back, but it was too late: the door had slammed shut behind her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She was wearing a cheerfully flowered dress more suitable for a six-year-old, and lugging a battered carpetbag on her shoulder. The instant she saw him, the bag dropped to the floor, her bright smile vanished and she went pale beneath her freckles.

"You're _here_ ," she whispered. "Why -"

"I came back to Salzburg to be a father to my children. Why are you dressed like that?"

"I'm leaving the Abbey for good," she said. "Wait. You did?"

"Yes. You are?"

He rose to his feet. Here in the tiny foyer, in his tie and uniform-like Trachten jacket, there hardly seemed room for his confident, authoritative demeanor.

"I put the _Edelweiss_ in dry dock the day after the storm, and now I'm at home with my children."

"Still looking for a governess, are you?"

Maria waited for him to laugh, but he only said, quite seriously, "They're not going to have a governess any more. I realized – well, it was you, really, who made me see it. All this time, I thought they blamed me for what happened to their mother, but in fact, I was the one who blamed _them_. I even blamed _her,_ absurd as it sounded once I heard myself say it out loud. Somehow, once that was out in the open, I found it easier to-" he paused and looked down at the floor for a moment.

"You were right, Maria. All they wanted was for me to love them. When I first returned home, they tested me constantly – pine cones on my chair, spiders in my bed, glue on my toothbrush – but once they saw I wasn't going anywhere, it got better. And so it's just the eight of us, taking it day by day. Lately I've been thinking that after a while, a governess might be a help. Because I used to think I understood women, but I'll _never_ understand girls, no matter how hard I try. But for now, it's just me. And maybe, someday, they'll have a new mother. When we're ready."

"But what about your voyage?"

He shook his head regretfully. "It will have to wait till they're older. It was a tough decision, but you know," there was a peculiar glint in his eye, "I'm no coward. Despite what some people say."

"I'm sorry about that. It was unkind of me. I'm far too outspoken, you know. It's one of my worst faults. But – but I still don't understand what you are doing _here_."

Once again, the Captain studied the floor intently before looking up to meet her gaze.

"I came to apologize. For lying to you about myself, to begin with. You can't imagine how many times I wished I'd been straight with you. I was just so _tired._ Tired of being brave, of everyone calling me a hero when I was failing miserably at the only job I had left."

"But you _are_ a hero," she interrupted, and her cheeks turned pink. "I looked you up in the library."

"Me?" Georg would have thought he was years past the hero-worship, but he felt irrationally pleased by her confession. "The Abbey library has a military history section?"

"We – I mean, they - have a very fine library here at the Abbey," she said earnestly. "And anyway, I should be the one apologizing to you, for lying about myself. I never would have made a lark out of your –ehrm – _situation,_ if I had known." Her throat closed when she remembered the Rilke poem. "Can you forgive me?" she managed at last.

"There is nothing to forgive, Maria. Although I _am_ curious about _your_ lie. Why did you?"

"I think I was tired, too, just like you. Tired of being someone I wasn't meant to be, and wanting to be someone else for a change, but not feeling brave enough to do anything about it. After a while, I started to feel I was more myself pretending to be the widow of a man I never married, and the mother of a little girl who never existed, than, I did as me."

"Is-is that all?" His voice was soft and low.

Maria bit her lip.

"Well, in the beginning, you made me feel sort of – I don't know - frightened, maybe."

"Frightened? But Maria, surely you know I would never have done anything to harm you! It was only that from everything you said, I thought-"

"I know. I _know,_ I understand that now, I really do. And I wasn't frightened, not exactly. More like _unsettled_. The way you flirted with me, it made me feel so innocent!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Maria, but you _are_ innocent! The truth is, I behaved badly. I can't believe that I tried to-" he muttered something under his breath, "- a _nun_!"

"I wasn't a real nun, you know. And I never will be one now," she reassured him.

"Obviously, if I had known, I would never have subjected you to-"

"You didn't subject me to anything! Because the thing is," and Maria felt her cheeks turn from pink to red, "I sort of _liked_ it. Feeling – ehrm – a little bit _not_ innocent for a change. Sometimes, the way we looked at each other, I could hardly breathe!"

The way her Captain was looking at her now was exactly that – breathtaking, that steady deep blue gaze that held hers and wouldn't let her look away. Scrambling for more comfortable conversational ground, she ventured, "So that's why you came back. To Salzburg, I mean, not the Abbey. But you came here too. To - ehrm - anyway, I'm glad you are here. Because I've wanted to apologize to you, and also I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For inspiring me. For encouraging me to do things I'd never dare. And I do thank you for that. For the courage to go looking for my life."

"And have you found it, Maria?"

"I think I have. I _know_ I have, in fact. Why, I'm already on my way," she said cheerfully, nodding at the battered carpetbag that sat at her feet. "Clara – remember her? She's decided to go live in America. With her daughter. The _real_ Lily."

"The one married to a dentist," he smiled.

"Yes, that one," grinned Maria, "And she's asked me to go with her! Isn't it wonderful? I'm going to _America_ , Max. Well, not Max, I mean –"

His hopes, which had crested like a wave moments ago, crashed against the rocks.

"My name is Georg, you know. But if you prefer, you may call me Captain," he said quietly.

Maria studied him carefully. In many ways, he resembled the man she'd known in Trieste, but he was perhaps more serious. Sober. Calmer, somehow. And definitely more _elegant._ He was also suddenly, and quite obviously, uneasy: his previously confident demeanor had vanished.

"It's wonderful news, Maria. When do you leave?"

"We sail from Trieste tomorrow evening. I'm on my way there now, you see." She gestured once again at her bag. "I thought I'd walk to the bus depot. To take one last look at my mountains before I go out to sea. Imagine, me at sea!"

Though his heart had fallen out of his chest and lay on the floor, Georg couldn't help but appreciate her little caper of delight. An hour ago, he'd expected, at worst, to be turned away from the Abbey, and at best, to be allowed a few minutes with a girl hidden behind habit and wimple. What, really, had he lost? He'd delivered his apology, now he could go.

"Well, then, it is most fortunate I came today," he said stiffly, turning toward the door. "It appears that if I'd have come tomorrow, I'd have missed you entirely."

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'm leaving Nonnberg Abbey for good," she said wistfully, looking around the drab little foyer. "And I don't spend a lot of time in Aigen. It's unlikely we'll cross paths, even after I return. "

With one hand on the doorknob, he froze.

"Return?"

"I'm not leaving Austria permanently. Why, it's my home!" She ticked her itinerary off on her fingers. "Lily and her family are meeting us in New York next week. They've promised us a look around there before we go on to Chicago. I'll help get Clara settled, spend Christmas with her family, and then, well, I'll come home again."

"I see," Georg said, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. "And what will you do then?"

"I'll have to find work, I guess. As a teacher. Or a governess, maybe."

"Look, Maria." He reached into his pocket. "Here's my card. I want you to promise me that you'll call when you return. You'll come to the villa and meet my children."

The Captain was looking her over again in that way that made her heart race, but Maria couldn't let herself believe it.

"This isn't about finding a governess, is it?" she said warily.

He made a strangled sound. She saw the muscles in his throat work with effort before he spoke, and when he did, there was no disguising the tender emotion in his voice.

"No, you little fool. I don't want you as a governess."

"Oh!' Maria squeaked.

And then she was in his arms, and it was as though they had never been apart. He crushed her so close against him that she could hear the steady, reassuring thump of his heart.

"Oh, my love," he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

When she lifted her face to his, her eyes were wide.

"I wish-" she whispered.

"Anything, Maria. What is it?"

"I wish you would kiss me."

"Here? In Nonnberg Abbey?" The very idea was so scandalous that he felt his eyebrows lift to the ceiling.

"Hm. I see what you mean," Maria said, considering for a moment, and then, "Take my bag, would you? Follow me."

Amused to be under her command, Georg obeyed, taking her bag in hand. She took his other hand and towed him out of the foyer, across the deserted courtyard, through the Abbey gate and out onto the street.

"There. Is that bet-"

But his mouth was already on hers. Previously a staunch, life-long opponent of public displays of affection, Georg kissed her for a very long time, right there in the middle of a dusty Salzburg street, until she went limp in his arms. The occasional passer-by stepped around them with a giggle or a mutter, but he didn't want to stop. He _never_ wanted to stop.

When he let her speak again, she could barely draw enough breath to stammer, "Maybe I shouldn't-"

"Of course you should, darling," he murmured, tightening his grip on her, and lowering his face to hers again.

"That's not what I - wait. That reminds me," she said, gathering her wits about her and pushing at his chest until he allowed a few inches of space between them, "You tried to – ehrm – you wanted to-"

"I did," he said, "and I still do, in fact."

It was her turn to be shocked.

"But I was, after all, misinformed about your status, as it were. I promise not to try it again until you ask me to."

Maria felt herself turn hot again.

"What makes you think I'll do that?"

"Wisdom borne of experience," he laughed wickedly. "Just wait till you return."

"What I was _trying_ to say," she informed him, "was maybe I shouldn't go, after all."

"To America? Are you joking? This is a wonderful opportunity. It's exactly the kind of adventure you longed for! Of course you're going to go."

"It's just that – well, what if – I mean, I'll be gone for quite a while, and what if you," Maria looked at him questioningly, "change your mind? What if you decide you're ready while I'm gone, and when I come back, you've gotten married? Just for example."

He shook his head. "That's not going to happen, Maria. You can't marry someone when you're in love with someone else." He loosened his grip on her just enough to glance at his watch. "What time is the bus to Trieste?"

"Eleven. What do you mean, in love with someone else?"

"You haven't got time to walk, not now. Come on, I'll drive you to the depot."

He hastened her toward a sleek green automobile parked at the curb.

"Is this _your_ car?"

"One of several," he smirked.

'Are you sure?"

She was having trouble making sense of her Captain; was this the same man who'd scraped together a few coins for a street vendor?

"I didn't steal it, any more than I stole the necklace. You did the research, didn't you? I'm one of the richest men in Austria."

Maria's mind was in turmoil, joy and relief battling with confusion.

"Wh-what do you mean, in love with someone else? You think you're in love with me?"

"That's what I said, yes."

He eased the car into the downtown traffic.

"You can't be in love with me! You don't even know me! I'm not Lily, you know. I'm a different girl entirely."

"You don't know me, either," he said.

" _You_ were in the library," she pointed out.

"It's _not_ the same thing," he snorted. "But there will be time for all of that when you come back. Right now you need to follow your dream. And that's an order. We'll be here waiting when you return."

When he parked the car and went round to open her door, she said nonsensically, "But those were Lily's clothes! While mine-" Frowning, she gestured to the childish dress.

"Believe me," he said wryly, "I'd replace that dress today, were it possible. Look Maria, I know the important parts of you. The clever mind, the wit and charm and kindness – those were you, not Lily. The wading wasn't Lily. The dreams weren't Lily. The love for my poetry habit, that wasn't Lily. Your hair, your mouth. The kisses weren't Lily. Those were _you._ " He pressed his lips to her palm.

It had all happened too fast, Maria thought. If only I had a minute to _think._ But inside the depot, they were already calling the bus to Trieste.

"Hold on," Georg dug in his pocket for a little black box. "I've been carrying this around with me for weeks." He opened the little box long enough for her to see the sapphire pendant gleaming against black velvet. "And by the way, it wasn't meant to be a bribe, just a gift. A gift for a friend. Because despite my appalling behavior, I really did think that I'd found a friend in you. Go on and take it. It will like having a bit of me along with you, so you won't forget about me."

"Oh, Max, I could never for-"

"For God's sake, Maria. Georg. It's _Georg._ Or Captain, if you absolutely must, but _not_ Max. _Never_ Max. Put it somewhere safe, now."

When she bent down to tuck the little box in her bag, her fingers found the Rilke volume.

"Do you want this back?"

"Let's have it." He took the book and paged through it for a moment, as though he were looking for something, but then he returned it to her.

"You keep it for now," he reassured her. "Come now, or the bus will leave for Trieste without you!"

At the bottom of the bus stairs, while the driver tapped impatiently on the steering wheel, she threw her arms around her Captain and clung to him for one last moment.

"Darling girl. Remember when I thought you should be a spy?"

"Yes, of course. Of course, _Georg,_ " Maria said experimentally.

"Consider yourself on a mission, then. Your goal is to come home safely to me. And the secret code for this first part of your journey is thirty-six."

"Thirty-six?"

"You'll figure it out," he said with a wink. "Meanwhile, don't forget that I'll be here waiting for you when you return."

As the bus pulled away, Maria didn't take her eyes off of him. At first, he was right under her window, smiling and waving; then he was only a tall, formal figure in the distance; and then finally, he faded completely from sight.

Only then did she look down to discover that she was still clutching the Rilke volume.

Of course.

Smiling, Maria turned immediately to page 36 and began to read.

 _ **OoO**_

 _ ** _ **The Limits of your Longing**_**_

 _God speaks to each of us as he makes us,  
then walks with us silently out of the night._

 _These are the words we dimly hear:_

 _You, sent out beyond your recall,  
go to the limits of your longing.  
Embody me._

 _Flare up like a flame  
and make big shadows I can move in._

 _Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.  
Just keep going. No feeling is final.  
Don't let yourself lose me._

 _Nearby is the country they call life.  
You will know it by its seriousness._

 _Give me your hand._

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **THE END**

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **And that's a wrap! I know I know, you want to know what happens next, but I like ending my stories at a place that lets YOUR imagination take over. What do YOU think happens next? Thank you so much for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing my story! I myself am off to write the next two little items in my queue. Happy fall and please leave me a review! Don't own, all for love.**


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